


History Hexes Us

by Mothtrap



Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 4
Genre: Acadia, Existential Angst, Far Harbor, Gen, Justice, Melancholy, Moral Dilemmas, Necessary Evil, Reconciliation, Robot Feels, Soul-Searching, Synths, The Institute - Freeform, Utilitarianism, far harbor spoilers, general Fallout 4 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6910954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothtrap/pseuds/Mothtrap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DiMA remembers his days in the Institute, and what happened between himself and the synth he considers his friend and brother: a synth who now calls himself Nick Valentine. However, there is more to their history that meets the eye. </p><p>After Nick finds out the truth, it's uncertain if they'll ever be able to reconcile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Terror in Memory

 

The light switched on suddenly and without warning. There was no gradual change, no gentle transition. It was time to open his eyes and face a new day. He wearily did so, remaining seated against the wall until, predictably, the intercom crackled to life.  
“Subject D1-M4, prepare for inspection.”

He got to his feet slowly, the routine so normal to him that he didn’t even blink as the spotless white doors zipped open, and a bunch of scientists clad in white suits and masks entered the room. Without being prompted, he widened his stance, and waited patiently as the men and women inspected him using various instruments he could only guess the function of.

“Are the actuators in your knees still playing up?” one of the lead men asked.

“Yes.” D1-M4 said dryly, giving him a piercing stare. It was hard to judge the man’s expression behind that mask.

“That will have to be repaired later today. You are to follow us to testing chamber B65.”

This piqued D1-M4’s curiosity. He couldn’t remember ever visiting that particular room in the two months of his existence.

The group formed a circle around him as they made their way through the corridors. D1-M4 looked around with interest, able to see new things after weeks of the same boring tests.

When they arrived, he was gently but firmly pushed into the white walled room, without so much as a word, the doors zipped close behind him. Before he had a chance to wonder what today had in store for him, he started when he noticed he wasn’t alone.

Across from him someone was sitting on a bed, the only piece of furniture in the room. It was a synth. And he looked like him. This was peculiar to D1-M4, as the only synths he had met in those 2 months had been the skeletal first generation synths.  
None of them had displayed even a shred of intelligence or self-determination beyond their strict programming. D1-M4 had been wondering if the Institute was building more like him. But any questions he had ever asked had been met by silence, so he had learned not to ask too many.

The other synth was quietly staring at him. It was unnerving, a somewhat new emotion to D1-M4. He analyzed his feelings with curiosity for a few moments before he spoke up.

“Hello.”

The other synth didn’t reply, but he did lift his head a little higher, the black and yellow eyes piercing. D1-M4 wanted to say something, but then he finally spoke.

“Hello.”

D1-M4 cautiously took a step forward “What’s your designation?”

“N1-V4.” he said, his voice was oddly monotonous. But D1-M4 knew that he had started off this way, too. He had time to progress, maybe this synth was still new to things? Why did the scientist want him to interact with N1-V4? Was there a point to this all?

He waited for the intercom to come to life and tell him instructions, but it didn’t happen. As the seconds stretched on, D1-M4 experienced another feeling he had only felt a few times before, which was decidedly unpleasant: awkwardness.

“What is your designation?” N1-V4 suddenly spoke up.

“Oh, uhm, D1-M4.” he shook himself from his thoughts.

“Interesting.” the other said again. The word was pronounced in such a way that didn’t at all suggest it was interesting.  
\-------

\--------------------------  
~Transcrypt software 2159~  
Audio transcription algorithms v3.6  
Log: Julia Welles, head of robotics  
\--------------------------

It’s certainly been a fascinating and educative day today. We started phase II of project Emergence, and everyone is excited. I am pleased that the team shares my enthusiasm for the progress we’ve made.

D1-M4 has progressed in unexpected ways over the last 9 weeks, and although we are not unhappy with his acclimation, we are much more excited about the prospects of N1-V4. Finally, our technology is at a point we can implement a century old neuroscan, left behind by the scientists of the pre-war MIT.

The records we managed to salvage stated that MIT attempted neurotransmission, but never succeeded. We have managed to build upon their knowledge, and it fills me with pride that we have reached this point.

A scan, lifted from a man named “Nicholas Valentine”, is somewhat degraded, but it’s in much better condition than all the others. Some of them were, regrettably, lost to us forever. So, Valentine will be our object of study in the coming few months.

Meehan thought it would be funny to call our asset for this project “N1-V4”, I don’t really understand why this would be entertaining, but it fits with our naming convention so I allowed it. I believe letting my team feel attached to the project is an important aspect in having it succeed.

Today, we let D1-M4 speak to N1-V4. We didn’t do it for any particular reason other than we wanted to see what D1’s reaction would be. His “personality modules” are much too slow and limited for us to use in future projects, even with his innate knowledge of the world around him. But knowledge is easy for a machine, personality is not.  
Regardless, we’ve decided to keep him online for the time being as a kind of “pet project”. I was in favor of termination, but Virgil convinced me that there were still things to be learned from D1-M4. Maybe he’s right, but If you ask me, I think he’s really just formed an emotional attachment to the project. It was his brainchild, after all.

So, yes, natural acclimation through personality modules is a dead end. Memory implantation is our future.

Perhaps the “Nicholas Valentine” personality may not be very useful to us in the long run, but our goal is understanding how memory works and can be manipulated. Then, we can easily fabricate custom personalities that suit our needs. The director has given us the green light, and has given us unlimited access to resources.

We’re starting the first round of neurotransmission tests in a few days. I’m very optimistic about the coming few weeks.

Welles out.

\--------------------------

The door zipped shut behind him for the fifth time that week. D1-M4 looked at the now familiar face of N1-V4. It was his own face, too, but he didn’t exactly have a mirror at hand in his holding room.

“Hello.” N1-V4 said the moment the other synth entered. They had met like this every day this week, and every time the scientists had given no instructions, no commands. So D1-M4 and N1-V4 had taken to casual conversations.

N1-V4 had been immensely curious. Like D1-M4, he possessed an innate knowledge of the Institute, a natural acceptance that he was a synth, and what all that information implied. Despite all that, he still started to wonder about the meaning of his existence, a question that had popped up in D1-M4 early on as well.

Through their talking, D1-M4 learned that his fellow synth didn’t have any tests done on him. It was strange, because he himself had been subject to rigorous and situational tests every day of his short life. The purpose was to force his personality to develop as fast it could, yet they weren’t even letting N1-V4 out of this room. This place had been his entire existence.

D1-M4 had given up trying to figure out the scientists motives, and simply enjoyed these moments. Another new emotion; he was genuinely happy to be seeing N1-V4 day after day, finally able to talk to someone in the same situation as himself.

His knowledge banks prompted him with the concept of “friend”, and he had spent one entire night, alone in his holding room, contemplating that idea. Could N1-V4 truly become a friend?

He stepped forward, smiling gently, and sat down on the cold steel floor in front of N1-V4’s bed. He crossed his legs idly and looked up.

“Why do you do… that thing you do?” N1-V4 asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Your legs.”

“Oh?” D1-M4 looked down and then back up again. “You mean crossing my legs?”

“Yes.” N1-V4 cocked his head slightly “You have done it every time you came to talk to me. I am trying to figure out the purpose of doing such a thing.”

“I don’t really know.” D1-M4 said slowly “I suppose it’s just… comfortable.”

“Do synths know comfort?”

“Do you? Why are you sitting on the bed?”

“It is elevated.”

“But you recognize the fact you don’t need to have your legs at a right angle, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Well then.” D1-M4 smiled, seeing the same kind of questions emerge in his fellow synth as he had experienced himself. Perhaps the purpose of this all was for him to help N1-V4 acclimate to personality, instead of using tests, to see if one synth could pass their knowledge on to another.

Their conversations continued like this for most of the day. Sometimes they looped back to the exact same topics, but D1-M4 remained patient. If this was a test, helping this synth develop, then he was determined to show the Institute his value.

But gradually, making a friend started to feel more important than that.  
\-------

\--------------------------  
Transcrypt software 2159  
Audio transcription algorithms v3.6  
Log: Julia Welles, head of robotics  
\--------------------------

We started the first neurotransmission today. Unfortunately, things did not go as planned. It pains me to say that our first experiment has been a… total failure.

The process went smoothly, up to the point that N1-V4 reawakened after complete transfer. The personality, Nicholas Valentine, panicked. The human mind is fairly tolerant to such stresses, but apparently the synthetic brain isn’t. The tremendous amount of emotion overloaded almost every aspect of the asset’s neural matrix. After a brief period, we had to shut him down.

We managed to reverse most of the process, but things get finicky when neurotransmissions are involved. Several “shards” of Valentine’s personality remained within the memory banks. This means N1-V4 will probably remember what occurred. We’ve decided this is not an obstacle for now, and we will continue to use him as our test subject.

If at first you don’t succeed… I believe an old adage goes.

The team certainly doesn’t seem to have losts their spirits. If anything, they are now more determined than ever to succeed. We all knew this wasn’t going to be easy, and who knows how many more obstacles we have to overcome. The director believes we are capable.

As an interesting side note: We are still allowing D1-M4 to spend time with N1-V4 a few hours every afternoon. Their conversations are giving us very fascinating insights in intersynthetic communication. N1-V4 does seem to develop his own personality at a significant faster rate than D1-M4 did through our tests. Even though I still don’t believe natural acclimation is the way forward, we’re going to keep this going for the foreseeable future, and see if we can gather important yet incidental data.

Welles out.

\--------------------------

Something was wrong this time, D1-M4 knew it as soon as he entered the room. He didn’t know exactly why, but his instinct for this kind of stuff had been slowly sharpened in the last months.

N1-V4 sat on his bed as usual, but this time he had he knees up to his chest and his arms around them. A sign of comfort, but also… discomfort?

“Are you alright?” D1-M4 asked gently, approaching slowly.

N1-V4 didn’t immediately reply, but looked up, an anxious expression in his eyes. “No.”

“Did something happen?”

“I… I don’t know exactly.” he said, D1-M4 noted that his friend had started to use contractions. “The scientists… they… did something to me.”

“What did they do?” D1-M4 sat down in his usual spot in front of the bed, legs crossed and looking up.

“They put me on a table and strapped me down and attached all these wires to my head.” he rattled off, D1-M4 had never heard him sound so distraught. He hadn’t even seen this much emotion in him until now. “And then I blacked out, but only for a short while. When I came to I… I felt… different.”

“Different how?”

“I felt panic. I’m sure it was panic. I didn’t know where I was or why I look like I do.”

“That’s strange. Your library should have prompted you with that information.”

“I know. I guess I didn’t have access to it. I felt so… so scared.” He pulled his legs in even closer. D1-M4 felt strangely compelled to reassure his friend physically, like humans seemed to do, but he remained seated.

“Why are they doing this to me, D1-M4?”

“I don’t know. The motivations of our creators elude me.”

“Did you learn nothing at all those weeks? Not even a hint? They won’t even speak to me. When they came in here yesterday to strap me down, I asked them what was going on, but they didn't say a word. I know they speak to you.” There was a hint of something in N1-V4’s voice, was it accusation?

“I don’t know any more than you do. We seem to possess the same library of innate knowledge. All that I know, I know, I never learned.”

Then N1-V4 started doing something strange: he started rocking on the spot. It was a subtle motion, but not difficult for the hyper acute synthetic eyes to pick up. The action puzzled D1-M4, wondering what this new test had really done to his friend.  
\-------

\--------------------------  
Transcrypt software 2159  
Audio transcription algorithms v3.6  
Log: Julia Welles, head of robotics  
\--------------------------

Ok, just a quick update today, we are incredibly busy and me and my team are working around the clock trying to accomplish our goal. It’s been three months now and the director spoke to me today, saying we need to make some serious breakthroughs soon, as our technology is _needed_ for something crucial. I can’t divulge more at this point.

Anyway... the repeated neurotransmissions are still failing, but we are making progress. Every time N1-V4 reawakens, the mnemonic matrix becomes more stable. It also takes gradually longer for his systems to overload.

We believe there’s some faults with the original neuroscan, and our failings are not entirely on our part. If we manage to accomplish a successful transfer, one that holds indefinitely, the implementation of manufactured personalities will be easy thereafter. However, we first need the data from this “Nicholas Valentine” to do so.

God… Nick, as he calls himself, really is difficult to work with. Every time he awakens his experiences are set back to square one. So his reactions have become pretty predictable by now. Having put such a strong-willed personality in a likewise strong-bodied synth… it’s almost impossible to keep him in his restraints for long. It took at least five attempts before we found something strong enough to hold him down. Him ripping the sensors from his head is fudging our statistics.

Anyway, we are still letting D1-M4 interact with N1-V4 in between the tests. It’s fascinating to watch them interact. I know it’s of no consequence to us, but the two synths seem to have formed some kind of… friendship. D1-M4 seems, for the lack of a better word, "happy" every time my team fetches him from his holding room. I’m not sure how much longer we’ll keep this “experiment” going, but for now it’s a convenient way to listen in to N1-V4’s thoughts. He doesn’t seem to like us very much, understandably so, as he remembers what we’re doing to him. He will talk to D1-M4 however. We’ll… we’ll see where this leads.

Welles out.

\--------------------------

“I… I don’t want them to do this to me anymore.” N1-V4 was shivering. He leaned back against the wall and his hands lay trembling in his lap. “I’m scared, D1-M4.”

The other synth looked sad, empathizing with his friend’s pain. But what could he do? Every time he met N1-V4, in these precious hours the scientists allowed them to interact, he seemed little bit worse than the last time.

It had been months, D1-M4 couldn’t be sure how long it had been precisely, but very gradually, he had come to the realisation that this… this wasn’t right. From what he had gathered, this treatment could be seen as cruel. Humans never did this to other humans, because they knew what pain felt like. But were their feelings invalid? He knew he felt, and he also deeply believed that N1-V4 had feelings too. Why were they seen as less than human?

It had taken a long time for D1-M4 to change his opinion on the Institute. An innate loyalty had always been programmed into him, but it had slowly worn away as his personality had grown stronger, and N1-V4’s experiences worsened.

Today, for the first time, he felt a pang of hatred towards his creators. It didn’t even surprise him.

He slowly got up from his usual position on the floor. N1-M4 looked up in surprise, his friend had never done that before. D1-M4 sat down next to him, on the bed. He looked down at his lap and wrung his hands together.

“I’m sorry they’re hurting you. I wish I could help.”

N1-V4 slowly relaxed his legs, folding them much like D1-M4 usually did. “I’m just happy you’re here to listen to me. I don’t understand why they let us do this in the first place. I don’t know what they get out of it.”

“Does it really matter?” D1-M4 paused for a moment, then said “What does matter, is what they’re trying to do to you.”

“Well, every time this happens, I get the feeling I know and understand everything. But then I wake up and it’s all gone.” N1-V4 looked at his friend sullenly “I think… I think they’re trying to implant a personality into me.”

“What?!” D1-M4 exclaimed “Why? You’ve made so much progress just by yourself!”

“I think it’s not fast enough. The process I mean. We… we’re prototypes.”

“Prototypes? How do we know? We never see anything or anyone the scientists don’t want us to see.”

“I overheard them talking, last time they experimented on me. They thought they’d already disabled my cognitive functions, but the process got delayed. My memory banks registered a conversation… about how we’re prototypes. You were meant to develop personality on your own, but it’s too slow a process. Implanting a personality could be instantaneous. Much more useful if you’re trying to create a whole bunch of… us.”

D1-M4 looked around cautiously “You know they’re listening to us, right?”

“I don’t think it matters. They’re determined to make the experiment succeed.” N1-V4 looked more terrified than ever, and D1-M4 was overcome by a wave of emotions. Anger at the Institute, sadness for his friend. His arm twitched, and before he even registered what he was doing, he had reached out and clasped it around N1-V4’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry my friend. I-”

But before he could finish, the doors on the other end of the room opened and a small group of people filed in. D1-M4’s expression was a grimace. He softly let go of N1-V4 and whispered: “I’ll help you, I promise.”  
The scientists led him out, away from his friend once more, back into the cold confines of his holding room.  
\-------

\--------------------------  
Transcrypt software 2159  
Audio transcription algorithms v3.6  
Log: Julia Welles, head of robotics  
\--------------------------

Something very interesting happened today. While on our daily routine of having D1-M4 interact with N1-V4, the older synth did something very unexpected. Their conversations have been getting more personal and more focussed on what N1-V4 is experiencing, as we anticipated. However, we didn’t expect D1-M4 to initiate physical contact.

Contact in the form of a… hug? It’s all very strange. We never expected the D1-M4 model of development to ever get to this stage of emotional understanding.

The director agreed this was very interesting information indeed. He even suggested an idea to us. The experiments with N1-V4 are getting closer to success, but it’s still one obstacle away from stabilization. The director implied that… using D1-M4 during one of the experiments could be a way to calibrate the matrix. If the older synth can use his emotional connection to N1-V4 and get to him.

All very interesting, but it still leaves me in doubt. Too many variables. We might risk introducing bias into our research. It might not even work at all. We’ve seen that Valentine can be… erratic. We have to be careful if we decide to deploy D1-M4.

I’m going to discuss it with the team tonight.

Welles out.

\--------------------------

Log appended:

So, we’ve decided to go through with it. Virgil was the last one to agree, but after a while even he saw the benefit in at least _trying_ what the director has suggested. We’re running short on time for this project, and I want something to show for our efforts by the end of this week. I know we can do it.

The experiment will take place tomorrow.

\--------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and welcome to the first fic I ever had the guts to put online! Immediately after playing Far Harbor (2 weeks ago, I played it early) I have been toying with the idea of writing a fic between Nick Valentine and DiMA. I fell in love with DiMA as quickly as I did with Nick, and I knew I wanted to write about their history in the Institute together.
> 
> Title of this fic was inspired from a lyric from the song "Hexes" by TesseracT. It's kind of the theme song of my fic, you can listen to it here: http://genius.com/Tesseract-hexes-lyrics
> 
> Thanks to TheFamousFireLadyM and Distantsun for encouraging me, love you guys.


	2. Spirals in Disarray

The woman glared at him. D1-M4 involuntarily swallowed, wondering for the hundredth time why those strangely human inclinations had been programmed into him.  
  
For months, all the scientists had done was run tests and shove him into N1-V4’s holding room without a word. It was only now that he realized most humans didn’t even look him in the eye. This confrontation was highly unusual.  
  
He glanced at the badge just above the woman’s breast pocket. _Welles_ , it said.  
  
She spoke: “D1-M4, before you see N1-V4 today you need to understand something.” The pause hung heavy in the air, the other scientists stood quiet and stoic around them. “You are not to touch N1-V4. You are _only_ to speak to him, in whatever way you deem fit.”  
  
“Why?” the question spilled out of D1-M4 before he had a chance to stop it.  
  
The woman widened her eyes ever so slightly, then said slowly: “If you do, we will be forced to terminate you.”  
She gave an almost imperceptible nod and the synth was pushed into the holding room once more. He was barely able to register the _threat_ he had just received, before noticing the situation before him.  
  
He whirled around, coolant pump kicking into a higher gear, but the door had already closed. _He didn’t want to be here_ . He knew what was going on.  
  
Slowly, he turned back, facing the gurney in the middle of the room. Surrounding it were machines, stacked up on top of each other. There were blinking lights, there were wires, and they were attached to a figure lying strapped to the bed. It was his friend, and he had his eyes closed.

He trembled as he approached, uncertain what was in store.  
  
The lights on the machines suddenly started blinking in a different rhythm and he jumped, apprehensively backing into the wall. He watched, terrified, as N1-V4’s eyes fluttered open. The seconds stretched on as very slowly, he opened his mouth and drew in a rasping breath.  
  
D1-M4 was powerless to stop it. This was one of the experiments N1-V4 has been so scared of. Why was _he_ involved now? What could the scientists possibly _want_?  
  
He waited unblinkingly as his friend twitched and breathed, turning his head from side to side. D1-M4’s fingers dug into the metal wall, trying to find purchase, until the other synth finally spoke.  
  
“Wha- what… where am I?”  
  
The voice was different. Human. Yet it was still _his_ voice. Another wave of rage rolled through D1-M4, hot and burning. N1-V4 had an identity all of his own, what gave the Institute the right to steal that away from him?  
  
“N1-V4...” he spoke softly. His friend’s head turned towards the sound of his voice. As his eyes focussed, they widened.  
  
“What the hell? Who are you?” He tensed his legs and arms as he gained more and more awareness of his situation. He started struggling in the restraints, and D1-M4 could see the panic starting to rise. The confusion. “Where am I?” he asked again, his voice louder this time.  
  
“Everything is ok. You’re going to be fine N1-V4.” He pushed off against the wall, suddenly determined to do everything he could. He had to at least _try_. His friend was still in there, repressed by the imposed personality.  
  
“What… what did you call me?” N1-V4’s eyes narrowed, trying to lean away as the other synth approached. “My name is Nick Valentine.” he sneered. “Get away from me!”  
  
D1-M4 stopped dead in his tracks. His mind was racing.  
“You are not. You are a synth, designation N1-V4. You’re my friend, don’t you remember?” The last few words came out like a plea. It startled D1-M4 to hear his own voice like that.  
  
“I don’t know what the hell you are!” Nick Valentine snapped. He strained against the gurney so much now that his back was arching. When the poor synth looked down at his own body, disbelief glistened in his eyes. He yelled, the sound piercing and haunting in the small metal room.  
  
“What have you done to me?” his voice was decidedly higher in pitch. His struggling was now interspersed by groans as he tried to free himself. Shorts bursts of breath, like whines, escaped from his lips.  
  
“You’re a _synth_. Please.” D1-M4 approached even closer. If he so wanted, he could reach out and touch him. His glance flitted briefly towards the cameras with their ever watching gaze. “They’ve implanted you with false memories, making you believe you’re someone you’re not.”  
  
But the words fell on deaf ears. Nick Valentine was too frenzied. He screamed, the expressions too human, _too real_ , on that synthetic face. The gurney rocked as he fought, but the restraints didn’t budge. D1-M4 slinked backward, his back bumping into the wall as he watched helplessly.  
  
Eventually and out of nowhere, the tortured silhouette sagged, relaxing back into the mattress, his head lolling to the side; he had passed out.  
This prompted D1-M4 to take another look. His coolant pump hadn’t let up in all that time, the fluid still coursing through his plastic veins. He felt his brain working overtime, but one particular emotion stood out the strongest: worry. He _had_ to know, _right now_ , if N1-V4 was ok. He couldn’t bear the thought of… of losing him like this. He had been the only good thing in his life so far. The Institute couldn’t take that away from him.  
  
He reached out tentatively, desperately calling out his designation several times. But before his hand could make contact the door opened. This time it wasn’t the scientists, it was a group of first generation synths, and they had their weapons drawn. D1-M4 froze, slowly letting his hand fall to his side.  
  
Moments later, he was forced out of the room, having barely a moment to glance at N1-V4’s motionless form.  
  
He was pushed into his own holding room with such force he stumbled and fell. As the footsteps died away and D1-M4 dragged himself into a sitting position on the floor, the silence descended over him.  
  
And with it descended an anxiety like he had never felt before. He drew in his knees and wrapped his arms around himself, only barely registering this was the same pose N1-V4 had taken when scared.  
  
He buried his face into his knees, wishing he could just pass out or sleep, find respite in unconsciousness. But he cursed his synthetic existence. He was not real, he was nothing but a fraud, a fake, a cheap imitation of life.  
  
_Yet_ , he thought to himself, his friendship with N1-V4 was _real_.  
  
His happiness was _real_.  
  
His pain was _real._ __  
__  
Did that mean nothing? __  
__  
He worried for hours, his thoughts going in circles. Pangs of anxiety every time he thought about his friend’s fate, making place for hot, burning anger towards the Institute.  
  
He had seen the face of their evil. And it was ruthless.  
  
\-------  
  
He didn’t know what he had expected the next day, but least of all to be forced into N1-V4’s room once more. He had figured yesterday’s experiment had failed, that _he hadn’t_ proven his worth in this endeavour. But the Institute’s ways were mysterious. He didn’t question it, at least this meant his friend was still ok, right?  
  
He peered nervously at the same setup he had seen the day before. He prayed the scientists would tell him what to do this time.  
  
But like all those months, no word came.  
  
Moments later, the exact same situation unfolded, albeit with slightly different wording from the personality that was Nick Valentine.  
  
D1-M4 struggled to make him understand, to cut through the inevitable panic. But it was a fruitless exercise.  
  
He was taken away once more after his friend passed out. Curling up on his bed that night he knew the encounter had lasted longer this time.  
  
The next day it happened again.  
  
And again.  
  
And again.  
  
Every time was the same. Nick’s memories were set back to square one. He was faced with the same confusion, the same brand-new unfamiliarity of it all. D1-M4 couldn’t even bear to think how all of this worked. If the soul was nothing more than a stream of unbroken consciousness, did that mean every instance of this Nick Valentine… _died_?  
  
He couldn’t ponder questions like that. Not when the only thing that mattered was his friend. He knew he had to do _something_. N1-V4 was clearly suffering, but the scientists weren’t allowing them to meet outside of the experiments any longer.  
  
So, after a little while, D1-M4 started to use different wordings, carefully choosing how to approach the situation. He started addressing him as Nick, having deducted that the stress caused N1-V4 to pass out, so he had to convince Nick everything was ok. Slowly but surely, their encounters lasted longer and longer.  
  
Despite the inevitable panic, he could gradually keep Nick from passing out long enough to learn some details, even if it meant connecting the incoherent snippets.

He determined that he had been a detective from Chicago, moved down to Boston for unknown reasons. There was also something about a woman… a woman named _Jenny_ . The way Nick Valentine rambled about her seemed significant. Every time D1-M4 learned more, Nick would always snap back to Jenny.  
  
However, soon enough Nick would start to question what had happened. Once or twice, they had even gotten to the point of the _truth_ . He had told him where he was, and most importantly _when_ . But Nick hadn’t believed him, or at least been in denial, and the resulting stress had overloaded the synthetic matrix once more. Other times, D1-M4 had tried lying, but Nick had been too clever, too perceptive, to know that he was no longer in his own time, his own life. Let alone trying to explain why his body was suddenly a smooth, plastic form.  
  
The experiments continued, but it wasn’t enough. There was a sense of desperation coming from the scientists now, up to the point that they forced him to watch Nick awaken _twice a day_ .  
  
D1-M4 started feeling sick to his stomach, despite a clear lack of those bodily functions, every time he faced his friend’s motionless form. Waiting, achingly, for the same scene to play out again and again.  
  
Every night in his room was spent in more pain and disillusion. At a certain point, he even started to feel a sense of detachment from it all. Perhaps, he cautiously examined himself, a way to prevent this emotional burden from dragging him down completely.  
  
This continued for weeks. Until one particular night changed everything.  
\-------  
  
His holding room was pitch black, as it usually was between 10pm and 6am sharp. The Institute ran on precious energy, so had to save wherever they could. Providing light to a synth they didn’t even deem an equal sentient being would seem ridiculous.  
  
However, there was always a quiet thrum underneath it all. D1-M4 could feel it in his feet; the soft rumbling coming from the reactor deep within the heart of the Institute. It had been a life-line to the world around him during so many dark hours spent in isolation. In a way, it was soothing to him. Sometimes he found himself tuning out of his own thoughts and entering a state of near trance, simply feeling the subtle vibrations in his toes, travelling up his legs and through his spine.  
  
Until one night, all of a sudden, it stopped.  
  
It took him several seconds to realize what was different. He was so used to the sound it had become almost part of him.  
  
He started when next to him, there was a whooshing sound and a slight gust of chilly air. The door of his holding room had opened. An extremely dim light shone through it: the emergency lighting. The lamps lined the floor and ceiling of the corridors, but they were faint and teal, only just enough to guide the way.  
  
D1-M4 stared, mouth agape, towards the open door. He stared towards freedom.  
  
There were no guards outside, as the Institute trusted their technology not to fail them. It was dark. And night. Most humans would be asleep.  
  
Before the conscious decision had even formed in his brain, his body had already moved him to action. He felt his coolant pump throbbing in his chest from it all, his feet momentarily struggling to find grip as he sprinted out of the room.  
  
Fear filled every filament of his being as he made his way through the deserted hallways, expecting to run into people around any corner now. The trip to N1-V4’s holding room felt a lot longer than all the times he had been guided there, but at least he could remember the route perfectly.  
  
Far away, he thought he could hear sounds, perhaps people rushing to control the situation. He couldn’t waste a second.  
  
Around the last corner, he smacked into something hard. He fell down onto his back, but with lightning reflexes lunged forward as soon as he found his balance. In the gloom, he could make out the silhouette of something skeletal. His arms clasped around hard, cold metal.  
  
The first generation synth exclaimed something in programmed surprise, struggling against D1-M4’s grip. However, these models weren’t as strong, and he quickly gained the upper hand. An icy feeling flowed through him as he realized he needed to silence this synth _now_ , before it could attract unwanted attention.  
  
Through some kind of primitive instinct, he struggled with the synth, managing to clasp his arm arm it’s vulnerable neck. With unknown strength, driven by something akin to adrenalin, he tightened his grip. Something audibly cracked, and the synth’s voice distorted into an angry screech. D1-M4 squeezed harder, pushing himself to his feet all the while and dragging the body towards his destination. He couldn’t lose even a precious second to this. The added gravity was enough to make another popping sound before the synth’s voice was completely cut off. D1-M4 had managed to sever the connection in the spinal cord.  
  
Even though the first generation of synths weren’t _sentient,_ he still felt a surge of guilt unfurl within the pit of his stomach as he dropped the broken body to the ground. But he shook himself. There was no time now. He had to do this.  
  
A few moments later, he burst through into N1-V4’s room. He spotted N1-V4 lying seemingly unconscious on his bed. Without hesitation, he scooped up his friend in his arms and bolted for the door.  
  
His feet made odd slapping sounds against the hard metal floor as he ran. He ran, and ran, and ran. Sometimes he had to hoist N1-V4’s body further up his arms, meanwhile checking for any signs of people or other synths on patrol.  
  
He was in a state of panic, but it was a focussed kind of agitation. He knew the Institute’s basic lay-out through his knowledge banks, but not enough on _how to get out_ . He racked his brain, trying to find a way to at least hide, thinking what would make most sense. He knew ahead was the ring path around the centre of the Institute. To his left would be security, while ahead would make them too obvious to spot amidst the glass vaulted Atrium. He took a sharp right, N1-V4’s legs bobbing up and down with every bound.  
  
As he approached a section named “Bioscience”, information from his knowledge banks prompted itself. There was a section of the old Robotics lab down here, a deteriorated part of the Institute normally shielded off by powered doors. But with the generator having failed, perhaps that door would have opened too. He gritted his teeth and entered through the wide open Bioscience doors. He slowed down a little, knowing access to the old lab was nearby, but also that there was a distinct possibility of confrontation here.  
  
There were indeed voices ahead. D1-M4 ducked into another corridor, leading parallel to the circular hall of this wing. He felt his coolant pump kicking up another notch under the strain of carrying N1-V4. He heard footsteps around the next hallway, and ducked besides a nearby table. He laid down his friend underneath it, and shimmied up to the intersection, pressed against the wall. He could head a robotic whirring and the clacking of metal against metal, and knew it was another first generation synth.  
  
He waited with bated breath, and when the silhouette finally appeared, he didn’t hesitate for a moment. He tried the same kind of tackle he had on the other guard, but realized too late that _this synth_ was carrying a rifle. He managed to force the arm holding it to the ground, but not in time for a shot to be fired. The blast got redirected from his head down to his leg. The bright blue flash of the laser was blinding in the pitch black of the corridor. A searing pain tore through him when the realized it had hit.  
  
But whatever this surge of energy was, it made him able to ignore the pain. With all his might, he forced his weight down on the synth’s arm, bending the metal and snapping sensitive actuators and wires running down the core. The rifle dropped, and D1-M4 hurried to pick it up. With one swooping motion, he had it pressed against the synth’s skull and pulled the trigger. It ripped a hole right through the poor creature’s head, melting everything in its way.  
  
Trembling, D1-M4 got off the floor, keeping hold of the weapon. He hurried back to N1-V4 and picked him up.  
  
He ran onward, the pain in his leg worsened but he was thankful his leg was still functional at all. He had no time to inspect the damage now; he had finally arrived at the old labs. The doors were indeed open. He darted through, barely noticing how the surroundings had now changed from the usual sleek and polished walls to something grimier and obviously ancient.  
  
But he didn’t stop for a moment. He felt like he’d been running for hours. The old lab had many dead ends, and every time he had to turn back, he feared running into more security, but no-one came.  
  
Eventually, he got to what seemed like a hatch on the ceiling. It was the only way left to go. He had come this far, and he couldn’t stop now. Stopping now meant that the Institute could gain control of the situation and attempt to find them. He could not pause until he had found a way out. In the back of his mind there was a distinct possibility _they’d never make it_ , but he had to keep hope.  
  
He struggled to carry both N1-V4 and the rifle up the ladder and through the trapdoor, but when he did, he found himself in a stale smelling, high-ceilinged corridor made entirely of concrete. There was only one way to go here, and eventually he stumbled upon a large pipe, tall enough for a man to fit through. There was a hatch on the side  
  
He pried it open and entered without thinking. Even if this was a dead end, it might take the Institute a long time to find them here.

D1-M4 sloshed into knee-deep water; it smelled horribly. He wondered if this was meant to be the Institute’s sewer, and if it was, if it would mean a way out. A glimmer of hope fluttered in his chest.  
  
There was a dead end: a rusted grate. He tried pushing through it, but even with his superior strength the metal did not entirely budge. He used the gun’s precious ammunition to tear holes through particular weak spots, until he finally managed to push through the frame. Carefully he lifted his friend through, cautious not to scrape him past the razor sharp metal.  
  
At the end of the pipe, there was some kind of light. It wasn’t much, but it seemed to come through an ancient and cracked ceiling… Daylight?  
  
His metal heart seemed to pound in his chest. He almost felt like he was dreaming. Could this really be true? Had he found a way out?  
  
The pipe led into the main sewer. It was a rotten, infested place, but D1-M4 didn’t encounter any more trouble. He found another pipe, water was rushing through it. He reasoned where water flowed, there had to be a place for it to flow _to._ So he once again followed the obvious path.  
  
Suddenly, the pipe made a steep drop. There was a bend going down here and it was entirely underwater. Glad synths didn’t need to breathe, he grasped onto his friend as tightly as he could, and carefully made his way under.  
  
It was a struggle. The current was swirling here, pushing him in different directions. With all the power he could muster, he pressed forward into the darkness. He felt the hole in his leg filling up with water, and silently prayed that his core vitals were protected in a similar manner to those of the older synths.  
  
There was a light at the end of the tunnel; he could see it through water-blurred vision. It got closer, and closer. He ached to reach it, his fingers slipping around N1-V4’s limp frame and the rifle clutched under one arm. Eventually, he broke through the strong current, and suddenly felt light as the stream pushed him out into the open water. He beat his legs, trying to come up to the surface.  
  
When he burst through, his eyes took a few moments to adjust to what he was seeing.  
  
And what he was seeing was devastation.  
  
The devastation of a city called Boston.  
  
Without a moment’s thought, he swam towards the river bank. There was a wall erected around the edge, but there was a tongue of sand just below it, enough to hoist himself and N1-V4 onto. His chest heaved, the coolant trying to be as effective as possible in working the overheating elements. He couldn’t take it any longer. He had to take a moment’s rest.  
  
He looked around and saw a shipping container, half lodged in the mud; It was closed at one end. D1-M4 dragged his friend’s body into it. He hoped that this would give them enough shelter, enough time to think about what was coming next. Enough time to figure out… to figure out it N1-V4 was going to be ok.  
  
He stared at his friend’s motionless form and was overcome by a sense of wretched despair. He hoped that his impulsive escape hadn’t cost N1-V4 his life.


	3. Shatters in History

Still ignoring his CPU’s error messages, he crouched down next to his friend. It wasn’t exactly easy to check for vital signs in an unconscious synth, but through all the tests the scientist had done on D1-M4 himself, he had learned a thing or two.  
  
He carefully dislocated the panel on N1-V4’s throat and peered inside, up towards the artificial brain. There he could see a faint, slowly blinking light. He was still… alive. With an overwhelming sense of relief, he placed the panel back, knowing that N1-V4’s systems were still in the process of reinitializing.  
  
He sat back, finally inspecting his own leg. He winced slightly at the extent of the damage. The laser burst had torn a large hole in his skin plating, burning the edges black and melting through the components beneath. He gingerly inspected the wound, finding that the shot had only damaged the supportive structure around the core of the leg, and had missed important actuators and servos entirely.  
  
Finally, he had a moment to reflect on what had happened. The night outside the container deepened as he sat there analyzing their escape.  
  
He realized how incredibly lucky they had been. They had been guarded and shielded for all of their lives, but the innate knowledge the Institute had given them had inadvertently saved them from the same cruel creators.  
  
D1-M4 sat there for hours, but felt more agitated by the moment. They were still extremely close to the Institute. He wanted nothing more than to get out of there as soon as possible.  
  
Then again, he wasn’t prepared to carry N1-V4’s unconscious body through the wasteland. An entirely new place where he didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t want to stumble into a deathtrap.  
  
To his relief, and just as the gloaming started over the horizon, N1-V4 stirred.    
  
D1-M4 turned to him immediately, placing a hand on the other synth’s shoulder.  
  
“N1-V4, can you hear me?” he said, the worry in his voice resounding against the inside of the container.  
  
N1-V4 groaned as his eyelids flickered open. He looked up at D1-M4 blearily, and then stared at his surroundings.  
  
“What... where?”  
  
“N1-V4, we escaped. We escaped the Institute. We’re… we’re free.” he swallowed nervously and squeezed his friend’s shoulder a little harder as N1-V4 sat up, shifting his stiff limbs.  
  
“We… escaped?” he repeated slowly, shaking his head all the while. “What, how?”  
  
D1-M4 immediately hurried to tell him the whole story, suddenly feeling the pressure of getting away from here as soon as possible. When he finished, N1-V4 looked at him in disbelief, but there was a sheen of something else there… gratitude.  
  
“I knew you’d come through for me.” he said quietly. “You promised you’d help me… and you did.” a small smile played around his lips. D1-M4 was once again surprised to see how far his friend’s emotional development had gotten, even without Nick Valentine.  
  
“We were lucky. That power outage was a freak accident, and it happened at precisely the right moment, too.”  
  
“Even so, you...” but then N1-V4’s glanced down at the older synth’s leg. “Oh no! You’ve been damaged!”  
  
“Yes, I’ve been hurt.” D1-M4 gently corrected his friend, suddenly feeling a strong aversion towards talking about themselves as machines. “But it’s not serious.” he reassured him quickly.  
  
“If you... if you say so.” N1-V4 shifted position, some water leaking out from between the cracks in his skin plating. “So what do we do next? We need to get as far away from the Institute as we can.”  
  
“Yes.” D4-M4 said calmly. “I don’t know what we’ll face out there, so we need to stay vigilant. We only have one weapon and limited ammunition, so you need to stay close. Can you do that for me?”  
  
The younger synth nodded solemnly. His eyes were still slightly glazed over by the shock of all this.  
  
“Let’s us be off then. It’s probably better to move while it’s still dark out.”  
  
They peered out at the destroyed city looming over them. An overpass ran above, and underneath it was a broken bridge across the river. It was deceptively quiet, but D1-M4 knew the wasteland wasn’t without its dangers. He had no entries in his database, nor had he ever been _told_ , but the snippets he had picked up from the scientists over the months hadn’t been comforting.  
  
They trudged through the mud, finding a point where they could climb onto the embankment. Eventually they did, lifting themselves over the rubble and bricks until they stood on a promenade lined by crumbling buildings.  
  
Picking a direction at random, they followed the river. D1-M4 kept his rifle poised and his senses sharp. He observed his friend looking around as well, but the quiet of the desolate city was overwhelming.  
  
In the next couple of hours, they could see figures moving in the distance, across the river. They tried to remain out of sight, moving as fast as they could without becoming reckless. D1-M4 occasionally found himself looking at a tall white and orange cladded building looming over the skyline, assuring him they were not walking in circles. 

Twice they encountered strange and aggressive creatures. The first time they were fleshy burrowing rodents that they took care of fairly easily; the critters’ jaws weren’t strong enough to pierce their skin, but a laser rifle certainly was strong enough to pierce theirs. In the second confrontation the creatures were flying things with long spindly legs, which were even easier to dispose of.  
  
N1-V4 looked at the corpses sadly as they passed by.  
“I don’t feel comfortable… killing things.” he said, his voice a monotone.  
  
“We do what we must.” D1-M4 said stoically, waving the laser rifle in the direction of the rest of the city.  
  
“I know but... I just.” N1-V4 shrugged “I really don’t understand why I feel this way. Why my chance at life would be so much more valuable than anyone… any _thing_ else.”  
  
D1-M4 peered at his friend curiously. He knew they were identical prototypes in every way, save for the way they had each acquired their personalities. Sure, the personality imprint apparently hadn’t been successful, but D1-M4 noticed how through different experiences, N1-V4 had still developed a somewhat different moral code.  
  
Or, a dark part of D1-M4 prompted, had some part of Nick Valentine _seeped into his friend_ ? He didn’t like thinking about it, didn’t like imagining how it must feel to have your mind tarnished like that; forced to think and act a certain way.  
  
“Of course we have value.” D1-M4 said slowly, but was privately racking his thoughts as to _why_ . He didn’t like how this made him feel. “We are sentient.”  
  
“But are we alive?” N1-V4’s expression was one of severe discomfort, his eyes darting all over the place. “I can’t help but feeling we are just some kind of… force. Humans talk about storms as if they’re sentient, only because of their destructive nature, but that doesn’t mean a storm is _alive_ .”  
  
“But we’re synths, not weather patterns, so that seems like a moot point.” D1-M4 said smoothly, but couldn’t help starting to feel worried. Why was he asking these questions? “Sentience and being alive go hand in hand.”

N1-V4 didn’t seem convinced, looking pensive as they continued on their way.  
  
A day passed, in which they had more encounters with the local wildlife. A few times, they accidentally strayed close enough to human encampments that they could hear voices in the distance. Each time, they sought cover and found a way around, making themselves as inconspicuous as possible.  
  
One night, they discussed the inevitable.  
  
“How much longer are we going to continue like this, D1-M4?” the younger synth trudged on behind him, staring insistently at the back of his friend’s head. “When can we feel safe?”  
  
“I don’t know.” D1-M4 looked half behind himself as they made their way through the shadows of tall buildings. “We need to get out of this city.”  
  
“I agree… but.” he paused, hesitantly.  
  
“What’s wrong?” D1-M4 asked patiently, reassuringly.  
  
“What do we do after that?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“When we finally feel safe… what does our life become? What do we _do_ ?” there was a hint of hopelessness in his voice that cut straight through D1-M4’s soul.  
  
“We’ll find something.” he had to admit to himself he hadn’t yet given it much thought, having been too occupied with their recent escape “We… Well... At least we have each other.”  
  
“We do, don’t we?” N1-V4 said solemnly, yet his voice now took on a somewhat grateful tone “That’s all we’ve ever had.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Are we… are we brothers?”  
  
The question came so abruptly D1-M4 stopped dead in his tracks, almost causing the other synth to bump into him.  
  
“D1-M4?” he said worriedly.  
  
The older synth turned around, a strange sort of expression across his face.  
  
“You… you really think of me that way?” he spoke softly, relaxing his grip on his rifle.  
  
“Yeah. I mean, it makes sense.” N1-V4 gestured at himself and D1-M4 in turn “We are of the same make, the same project, the same progenitor.”  
  
“Does that really mean anything though?” D1-M4 frowned, his voice wavering “Less sentient robots are from the same conveyor belt and they’re not brothers.”  
  
“Well, I consider you one. And that’s all that matters, right?” N1-V4 shrugged, a wavering smile on his face.  
  
“That’s… I....” D1-M4 looked around, as if hoping to find the right words amidst the rubble. Then he looked back up sharply, his yellow irises piercing in the gloom. “You’re a brother to me, too.” a careful smile played around his lips. He still wasn’t entirely sure how to feel, but the knot in his chest surely wasn’t letting up. His smile broadened as he turned back around.

“Well come on then, let’s continue onward.”

He took several steps before he realized N1-V4 wasn’t following.  
  
“N1-V4?” he turned back around, peering at the silhouette standing in the gloom. He immediately knew something was wrong. Very wrong.  
  
The synth twitched, and before D1-M4 could react, he had fallen to his knees. He ran over immediately.  
  
Kneeling down next to him, he grasped onto his friend’s arm “What’s wrong?” In the back of his mind, one of his fears slowly bubbled up to the surface, and burst through as the other synth groaned.  
  
He had heard that groan too often to not recognize it for what it was.  
  
All those months. Strapped to a bed.  
  
Again and again.  
  
D1-M4 knew he had to act fast. They couldn’t afford attracting unwanted attention, _not now._ Without thinking, he threw himself into Nick Valentine, pushing him to the ground before he had a chance to fully come to.  
  
It knocked the wind out of the poor synth. It wouldn’t have fazed N1-V4 at all, but he knew Nick was deeply entrenched in human responses. He breathed in sharply and opened his eyes.  
  
Within a split second, D1-M4 had pushed his hand over his face, blinding him, while his other arm struggled to keep Nick down. He had to use his legs too, using his full weight to restrain the equally powerful synth.  
  
“Stop moving Valentine, or I will shoot you!” D1-M4 improvised, speaking with the most confident tone he could muster. If he could make Nick believe he was somewhere else… captured by gangsters or whatnot… perhaps he could finally talk him through this.  
  
“What is happening? Let me go!” Nick struggled, twisting his body underneath D1-M4 and nearly throwing him off.  
  
“I will do it! I will shoot!” D1-M4 said again, more insistently. He prayed Nick would fall for the empty threat, but it was no use.  
  
Fear made Nick more fierce that he could have ever expected. D1-M4 was violently tossed aside, feeling something in his arm crack as his full weight landed on it. Pain shot through him, but he lunged despite the agony in another attempt to subdue his brother. But it was too late; Nick had already seen too much.  
  
With the pre-war detective’s honed instincts, he caught D1-M4’s arms mid-swipe and held him in place. They struggled, Nick dragged the synth along as he stood up; they were face to face.  
  
“What the _hell_ are you?” he gritted his teeth, fear and disgust painted so clearly in those synthetic eyes.  
  
D1-M4 didn’t reply, knowing how precarious this situation was. They could not afford to make too much noise. They could not afford being hurt or captured after coming _so close to freedom_ .  
  
With the strength of his determination, ignoring the pangs of guilt plaguing his chest, he tripped Nick up, making him smack hard into the concrete. Within a moment he was on top of him again. Before the prewar personality could react, he gathered every ounce of strength in his body and punched him in the side of the head.  
  
He could hear an audible crack.  
  
His heart sank, despite the physical impossibility. “No...” he croaked, as Nick Valentine relaxed in his grip, arms falling down to the ground.  
  
For a few agonizing moments, D1-M4 thought he’d done irreversible damage. Trembling, he turned his brother’s face with one hand, knowing the knock had rattled N1-V4’s CPU hard enough to forcibly reinitialize.  
  
There was a jagged crack down the facial plating, running just behind the cheek bone, but there was no deformation. D1-M4 breathed out slowly, trying to force his coolant pump in a lower gear.  
  
He only faintly noticed the tear on his own lower arm, where he had landed on it. The dull pain mirrored that of his leg, but it all seemed distant now.  
  
He picked N1-V4 up, just like he had done during their Institute escape, and started making his way towards a more secluded place.  
  
Hours later, his brother finally woke up. It didn’t take long for him to realize what had occurred.  
  
“This is going to keep on happening.” N1-V4 moaned.  
  
“I didn’t even know you could… relapse… like that.” D1-M4 peered at him, his eyes full of worry.  
  
“I didn’t know either.” the young synth frowned “Or… maybe I do. It’s all very hazy. But I think this has happened before.”  
  
“How is it possible?”  
  
“The neurotransplant is there. It’s complete. It just won’t… take hold, if that makes sense. Transferring the actual data is the easy bit, making it embed in the mnemonic matrix is another.”  
  
“Is there a way to stop it?” D1-M4 said quietly, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer to that question. “I can’t lose you. Not like that.”  
  
“I don’t know.” N1-V4 pulled his legs up to his chest. “I’m sorry.” those last few words sounded as though he was swallowing something. _Tears?_ Synths couldn’t cry but D1-M4 still felt an overwhelming sense of empathy.  
  
He shuffled closer to him, wrapping a comforting arm around his back. He gently bumped his forehead against N1-V4’s temple.  
  
“It’s not your fault. The Institute did this to you. We’ll find a way, I promise, brother.”  
  
N1-V4 smiled, though it was a watery one. “Thank you.”

But the next day, it happened again. And this time, D1-M4 only barely managed to silence Nick Valentine in time, figures with guns moving in the distance, before scurrying out of there. He sprinted into one of the broken buildings, dodging around the musty hallways, before finally picking one of the many rooms and closing the door. He squatted around the corner, praying the humans weren't going to come looking for them.

He stared at the limp form of his brother and hung his head hopelessly. Part of him had hoped, however unrealistically, that yesterday's incident had been a doozy. But N1-V4 had been right, this was going to keep on happening.

And he had no idea how to stop it. Without the Institute’s equipment, what were they ever supposed to do?

He drew his fingers across his face, cradling his cheeks, and let out a deep sigh. They were never going to get out of the city at this rate.

When N1-V4 came to, he didn't even ask what happened, and simply looked down at his feet.

“Nick Valentine is going to take hold.” He said grimly.

D1-M4 trembled “Why does the Institute think this was right. What gives humans this sense of… of entitlement. Why give you a personality of your own, if they were just going to nullify it?”

“But I won't be destroyed.” N1-V4 spoke, oddly calm and focussed under the circumstances “I don't know how I know but… Nick and I have been merging, I can feel it. When Nick wakes up he might not remember, but part of me will always be there, exerting an influence. He might think he owes everything to his old life, but he doesn't know _me”_

“So what will happen?” D1-M4 asked solemnly.

“There will be a point... of no return.”

D1-M4 stiffened “I cannot accept that, I refuse to let Nick steal you away from me.”

“It's not Nick’s fault, he is a victim in this as much as me.”

D1-M4 knew he was right, but still couldn't help but feel an irrational enmity towards the 200-year-gone detective.  
  
“Listen.” N1-V4 said gravely, kneeling up and facing his brother directly. He reached out and grabbed one of his hands, squeezing tightly. His gaze was so piercing, D1-M4 had trouble keeping eye-contact “You can’t let me slow you down. I _am_ going to change, whether I want to or not. There is _nothing_ we can do, short from shutting me down.”  
  
“I can’t just… leave you, if that’s what you are suggesting.” D1-M4 gritted his teeth, grasping onto his hand like a lifeline.  
  
“You might not have a choice. Nick is violent when he first wakes up, look what he’s already done to you.” he touched the crack on his brother’s arm and glanced at the rips in his legs from the most recent struggle “Look what he’s already forced you to do to me.” His fingers brushed past the ugly tear near his cheekbone.  
  
“I can handle him. If he does take hold, I can make him see the truth.” D1-M4 said, having never been so determined about something in his life. “And then, I can find a way to reverse it. I will find the technology to remove the implant. It _must be out there_ .”  
  
N1-V4 shook his head in frustration. “No. No...” then his gaze softened, his shoulders sagging “Don’t go through this for me. We’ll both end up dead. Nick won’t trust you quickly enough and he won’t come along willingly. He’ll inadvertently put you in danger. _Don’t do it._ ”  
  
“I can’t.” D1-M4 felt a burning sensation in his throat, it was unfamiliar to him “You can’t ask me to sit idly by. What do I do without _you_ ?”  
  
“You’ll find a way, a purpose.”  
  
“No...” He shook his head, his eyes screwed shut. “No.”  
  
“ _Listen to me,_ ” N1-V4 spoke, frustration rising once more. “We don’t know how long this will continue for… the constant relapses, the violence. It might take years, and in the meantime you can’t go anywhere safely. Don’t you see, D1-M4? You’re finally free, you deserve to get away from the Institute’s grasp.”  
  
“But so do you.”  
  
“I will be fine. Nick Valentine will be fine. He’s a strong willed man. Eventually he will wake up one day, disoriented and confused, but _stable._ And...” he paused heavily, biting his lower lip pensively “I will still be there. If you ever see me again, remember me, but don’t disparage Nick. I know you’ve only seen one side of him, but he’s a good man.”  
  
D1-M4 tore his gaze away from his brother. “I can’t believe you would ask me to do that...” he muttered, but was quickly losing his determination. “Without me, you could end up getting hurt, or worse.”  
  
“We can always _try_ to fix this.” N1-V4 said “But please understand... sticking together through this hurts _both_ of us.” he took a few deep breaths ”you _have to promise me_ to leave me behind when things go too far, when I harm you too much. I cannot stand the thought of waking up after a relapse and having… having... having ki...” he started trembling incessantly, unable to utter the last few words.  
  
D1-M4 pulled him into a hug, feeling the warmth of the strained electronics under his skin. It felt so real in that moment. He nestled his face into his neck, a burning pain filling his entire body as he thought about the inevitable.  
  
He knew then N1-V4 was right.  
  
“I’m sorry, brother. I… I understand.” He spoke softly, his willpower slowly slipping away from him “I’ll… I’ll make the right decision when it comes to it. I promise you.”  
  
N1-V4 clasped his arms around him, shaking and shivering in his embrace.  
  
For the first time in his life, D1-M4 wasn’t sure if he could trust his internal chronometer. He would always remember this moment as having lasted much longer than it really had.  
  
The moment carried weight, for it had been their good-bye

 


	4. Feverish Host to Us

The moment came unexpected. Days later. When D1-M4 had started to quietly hope that maybe all of this was over now, that it had all just been empty threats and empty promises.

They were out of the city by now, entering the quieter suburbs. Things were looking up, perhaps they would feel well outside of the Institute’s reach soon, and they could start thinking about what to make of their brand new lives.  
  
But fate was never going to let it happen.  
  
N1-V4 was kneeling in the dust after having slumped down, and D1-M4 reached out to touch him, fearing for the worst. But before he could make contact, the other synth stood up and stumbled away from him.  
  
His eyes betrayed confusion, they betrayed Nick.  
  
“Get away from me!” he spat, getting out of the D1-M4’s reach “What the hell are you?”  
  
His heart sank upon seeing it, the pain in his chest resurfacing with a vengeance. At a loss for what approach to take this time, he reverted to trying to reason with Nick Valentine, as he had done in the Institute.  
  
“It’s _me._ ” he said hopelessly, even though he knew full well Nick wouldn’t recognize him “We escaped the Institute together. You’re my brother.”  
  
“I don’t have a brother!” Nick said angrily, stepping around D1-M4, his guard up. “The name’s Nick Valentine, and nobody in my family tree is a plastic skinned freak!”  
  
D1-M4 winced at those words “You’re just confused...” he said with a focussed kind of patience, reaching out a hand “Let me help.”

But before he could make contact, the already tense Nick snapped. The man swiped at him, and D1-M4 barely avoided it, retaliating by grabbing onto his outstretched arm and twisting it, forcing Nick down onto the ground, the man yelped in pain.  
  
He lunged around, trying to knock the synth off his feet, but D1-M4 landed on top, pinning him down to the ground with all of his strength.  
  
“Stay away. From. Me!” Nick growled through gritted teeth, pushing back hard and throwing D1-M4 aside, rolling over and bearing down on him with clenched fists.  
  
D1-M4 grunted in pain with every blow, feeling his skin plating crack and distort under the immense power N1-V4 had been granted with; he was going to be turned to scrap if he couldn’t stop him. Panicking, he jabbed his hand into Nick’s throat hard enough to push him off, forcing him down a small grassy ledge they’d been fighting on.  
  
D1-M4 exploited Nick’s momentary disorientation and landed on top of him once more.  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you!” he yelled, his voice coming out sharp and piercing, uncharacteristic to him. With shock, he realized that his voice sounded like N1-V4’s.  
  
Nick struggled frantically, and was about to overcome him again, before D1-M4 struck a hard blow. The skin plating on the other side of his face cracked, but it had only dazed Nick.  
  
N1-V4 had been right. The personality was taking hold. This was becoming too much.  
  
His head throbbing, D1-M4 punched him again, and again. Until Nick was barely moving, but still conscious. Guilt erupted in D1-M4’s stomach upon seeing the damage he had done.  
  
He stood up abruptly, stumbling backwards in the grassy meadow, his chest heaving, his breaths shallow and sharp.  
  
This was it. This was the promise he had made. If N1-V4 came back, if he ever did at all, and saw what had happened… he would never forgive him. He would never forgive himself.  
  
He stood there for what felt like ages, staring down at Nick’s bruised face.  
  
D1-M4 grunted in pain, his own injuries almost getting the better of him. “Goodbye… brother.” He felt the words leave his mouth, but they felt strangely unreal.  
  
His body had already made the decision for him. He briefly gathered his strength before tearing his gaze away.

He ran.  
  
He ran before he could change his mind.  
  
\----  
  


Chapter 4b:  
**Don’t Look, Don’t Think  
**   


It wasn’t long before doubt set in, and over the years, D1-M4 still looked back on that moment, thinking how it could have gone differently.  
  
Was N1-V4 still alive out there, somewhere?  
  
He thought about going back more times than he could remember, but somehow never did. Something was always holding him back.

Guilt.  
  
He couldn’t stand the thought of finding out his brother was dead… or worse. Somehow ignorance seemed preferable to him, a comforting sense of disillusion.  
  
But all of that was too long ago now. A distant memory. But even as things changed and he assumed a new name, a new appearance...

...the memory remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter, mostly based on what happens in the memory file you discover in-game, tying the story together.


	5. It's Stranger Than You Think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter the present.

Nick Valentine leaned over the railing of Acadia’s roof access, the orange morning light reflecting off his condensing breaths. He peered down on the courtyard of sorts, watching his partner Atticus leave with a person they had only met a few days prior, a gruff yet down-to-earth man by the name of Old Longfellow.  
  
He shifted his position a little as the two disappeared from sight, starting their long way down the mountain. He idly searched his pockets for a cigarette and lit it, listening to birdsong all the while. He had to admit, this place was idyllic. This far above the island’s irradiated fog, Acadia was the most tranquil place Nick had seen in his, _apparently_ , century of living in the wasteland.  
  
It wasn’t long before a voice behind him broke the stillness, puncturing the air like a needle.  
  
“Nick...”  
  
The detective slowly turned around, leaning against the railing, staring at his “brother”.  
  
“DiMA.” he replied stiffly.  
  
“I’m glad you decided to stay.” the worn synth spoke in that infuriatingly calm voice. He took a cautious step forward, but knew to keep his distance, recognizing the discomfort in Nick’s eyes.  
  
“Well, don’t get used to it. I won’t be here for long.” he said gruffly, folding his arms defensively.  
  
“All the same, thank you. I was hoping we could talk.”  
  
“I don’t know where to begin.” Nick said, narrowing his eyes.  
  
It had been a week since Atticus had found proof of his and DiMA’s history in the old synth’s memory banks. He still hadn’t come to terms with it, but a lot had happened since.  
  
DiMA folded his arms behind his back, gazing out over the mountainside. Nick idly observed the morning light glinting off the myriad of tubes weaving over the old synth’s skin, illuminating the bundles of wire and steel. Absentmindedly he was glad _he_ didn’t look half as ravaged as that. He brushed his fingers past the ragged tear on his face and pondered the story DiMA had told him.  
  
Part of him wanted to be skeptical, but deep inside he knew DiMA had told him the truth. About the Institute, about their escape, about their fights.  
  
“All those things you told me… A lot of them don’t make sense.” he said under his breath, taking a deep drag of his cigarette, and watching the smoke billow from his mouth and nose.  
  
“Can you… clarify?” DiMA said, shifting his weight, his head ever so slightly tilted in curiosity. Nick didn’t know why he found that little gesture so maddening, but he did.  
  
“Well, for starters, I woke up in a trash heap, not in some… grassy meadow.”  
  
“Ah.” DiMA said, his icy gaze surveying Nick as he spoke “Well, we can safely assume that particular relapse wasn’t your last. Who knows how many you went through, before your personality finally settled.”  
  
Nick shook his head “I don’t… I don’t remember much from back then. No dates, no details, only general concepts.”  
  
“Ah, that will be the limited capacity of our prototype brains taking a toll on you.” DiMA said, his expression one of concern. The underlying implications were distressing to Nick. He couldn’t think about this, not now, so he switched tracks.  
  
“All this you told me… about us being friends before the memory implants. If that’s true, why did you leave me for dead?” Nick couldn’t stop the hint of accusation creeping into his voice.  
  
“I told you, I made a promise. A promise to you.” DiMA said mildly.  
  
“Then why did you never come back to look for me?” Nick pressed on, confused over his own state of mind. He wasn't sure he even _wanted_ DiMA in his life, not after the atrocity he had committed. And yet… and yet. He had never met a prototype synth like himself before, and DiMA held answers he would never be able to find now that the Institute was a smouldering crater in downtown Boston.  
  
“I’ve wanted to. But please, I implore you to see this from my perspective. I was soon far away from the Commonwealth. Scared, alone.” He paused heavily, his metallic fingers clacking against his folded arms. “As the years stretched on, the likelihood of being able to find you became increasingly slim.”  
  
“What stopped you from trying?” Nick snuffed out the finished cigarette under his shoe, breathing out the last huffs of smoke trapped in the nooks of his artificial lungs.  
  
“I met Faraday.” there was pause for just a second too long, before he continued “I learned about the existence of third generation synths through him. It was through him that I received news of the Institute’s developments, and how they were treating their newly sentient synths. Keep in mind, you and I were the _first_ sentient synths to be ever created. I knew the Institute wasn’t going to stop after we escaped, but I never anticipated the bio-engineered approach they took next.”  
  
“Must have taken Faraday quite some effort to convince you.” Nick remarked “For all you knew he could have been human. And lying.”  
  
“it's true, I didn’t believe him. At first.” DiMA spoke, his expression suddenly turning grave “Not until Chase came looking for him, trying to hunt him down. She was the first courser I ever encountered, and she had brought a partner.”  
  
“A partner?”  
  
“Another courser, a courser in training. Chase had taken her under her wing and I... I don’t remember her name. She... died in the first confrontation, after we were forced to defend ourselves.” DiMA unfolded his arms, letting them hang limply by his sides. “I then had physical evidence of these new synths being a reality. It wasn’t pleasant.”  
  
Nick briefly screwed his eyes shut before opening them again, unwilling to think about the gruesome picture DiMA had sketched “You still didn’t answer my question: why did you never come looking for me?”  
  
DiMA let out a short sound, it wasn’t a chuckle, but still betrayed his amusement at his brother’s tenacity. “Well, after I had convinced Chase to turn her life around, the plan for a community was born. A place where synth-kind could live together in peace, outside of the Institute’s reach.” He shifted his stance again, the bundles of wires smoothly bending along his movements. “I finally had a goal, a purpose.”  
  
“So that’s it? You just _forgot_ ? You were _busy_ ?” Nick said sharply. He still had no idea why he felt these pangs of _abandonment_ , betrayal. He shouldn’t have to feel anything. Not for this… this murderer.  
  
“I never forgot you.” DiMA said sadly.  
  
Nick knew it was true. It would have been easy for DiMA to forget him, literally rid himself of the memories and of the guilt his old brain harbored, and yet he had held onto the memories, for all these years.  
  
Nick snapped around to face the courtyard once more, his hands gripping onto the railings like a lifeline. The sharp clank from his metal hand reverberated all the way down the rooftop, dissolving into the crisp morning air.  
  
“Nick...” DiMA said softly, stepping forward. “I-”  
  
“No.” Nick interrupted. “No more talking. I need time alone.”  
He could hear DiMA coming to a halt, could almost _hear_ the defeat in the synth’s posture.  
  
“Alright. I will be in the observatory if you need me. Speak to Chase when you’re ready, she will show you to your room, it’s yours while you’re staying with us.”  
  
Nick didn’t reply, couldn’t bring himself even to say thanks. A few uncomfortable moments passed, before he heard DiMA step away. And just like that, he was gone.  
  
\-----  
  
“This is it” Chase nodded as they entered the tiny room. Like most of Acadia it was metal walled and dingy, save for a warm colored lamp standing in the corner. The space was simple and merely contained a desk, a dresser and a bed.

Nick frowned “I don't exactly need all this.”

“Maybe not,” Chase shrugged “But see it as your own personal space for if you need it. I'm sure you will.”

“How so?” Nick turned towards her, watching the former courser lean into the doorframe.

“As interesting an individual as DiMA is, his rhetoric can be pretty exhausting.” A reserved yet knowing smile played around her lips.

Nick let out a brief chuckle, appreciating this woman’s honesty “Sure.”

“How long will your friend Atticus be gone for?”

“A couple of days.” Nick shrugged, casually taking off his trenchcoat and throwing it on the bed.

“Right. Let me know if you leave Acadia, even if it’s just for a short while. I take security very seriously and I want to know people’s whereabouts.”

“Yes ma’am.” Nick nodded, one finger tracing the spines of a small collection of pre-war books atop the dresser.  
  
Without a further word, she was gone. Nick spent the next couple of hours reflecting, unable to focus his mind on anything in particular. He wasn’t going to be able to avoid confrontation forever.

That evening, he sought out the older synth once more.

\-----

DiMA had his eyes closed, but as Nick approached he immediately looked up, despite the detective not making a single sound. His pale grey eyes shimmered in the light from the sun, peaking through Acadia’s tattered roof.  
  
“Nick.” DiMA spoke, dipping his head briefly in acknowledgement, but remaining seated in his adapted chair. Nick could see the ports at his back perfectly lining up with the connectors in the seat, establishing a link between the synth and the dozens of data banks surrounding him.  
  
“Hello, DiMA.” Nick suppressed a sigh, remaining standing at the base of the telescope’s elevated platform, looking up at him.  
  
“My apologies if things aren’t very interesting around here for a detective such as yourself.” DiMA said, lazily waving a hand.  
  
“Honestly? I could do with a bit of rest after all that’s happened in the last week.”  
  
“That’s good to hear.” The way he spoke that line, as always, sounded so full of genuine pleasantness that it made Nick's skin crawl. Something about how it contrasted with all the appalling things he had done.  
  
“You… still don’t seem very comfortable.” DiMA said quietly, after he had been silent for a few moments “Though I suppose I can understand why.”  
  
“Yes.” Nick said, absentmindedly clenching his jaw and grinding his molars “Can you _understand_ why you proposed to murder Tektus, right after you found out what you did to Avery?” his voice dripped with sarcasm.  
  
At those words, DiMA got up, the connections breaking off smoothly, one by one, the chair pushing him into an upright stance.

“You're still upset about that?” He said, though his tone didn't betray surprise.

“You mean how you didn't face justice? Damn right I'm hung up on that!” Nick snapped.

DiMA sighed, briefly rubbing his face “You know as well as I do that telling them the truth would do far more harm than good.”

Deep inside Nick knew, but how could he possibly reconcile that with what DiMA had done. “It will never make it _right.”_

“I don't deny that.” The old synth said so quietly Nick could barely pick it up. “But,” and he spoke up this time “You cannot equate my actions to those… thugs… You have faced out there in the wasteland. I know you don't believe in a greater good, Nick, but you can see as well as I do that the people of Far Harbor will know no mercy.”

Nick didn't think he could feel any more conflicted, wondering if, deep down, the only thing stopping him from pulling his gun on DiMA was that they shared history. He wondered what he would have done if he had just been another raider boss.

“I know,” he conceded, the tone biting.

“And you know there is no such thing as jails or other punishments for what I have done, not out here.”

“ _I know,_ ” he grunted.

“The synths of Acadia need me.”

“Do they really?” Nick glared up at him “Or is that just your exaggerated sense of self importance talking?”

DiMA barely twitched at those words, didn't even respond, instead lifting his hands in a conciliatory manner. “I understand you're upset, I truly do. But, I would like to make you a proposition.”

Nick dipped his head, his yellow eyes barely visible beneath the brim of his hat. “And what is that?”

DiMA glanced around, at his modified chair, and gestured at it. “You can access my memory banks. See all the memories I have collected over the years. I know you don't trust me, but perhaps they will paint a clearer picture of what made me who I am, and why I made certain… choices.”

Nick was taken aback “Access your memories? Why? So I can see your finely curated collection? How do I know there aren't any more memories hidden out there?”

“You'll have to believe me, those were the only ones I ever hid,” DiMA responded calmly “It's all there, no gaps, no holes.”

A sudden sense of revulsion filled Nick at the thought “No way. No way in hell I'm doing that.”

“It wouldn't be dangerous to you. It's… too difficult to explain right now, but your own memories would be unaffected. It's the difference between viewing a… a _picture_ , instead of actually _being_ in it.”  
  
Nick scowled at him “No. I won't do it. I won't ever sympathize with a murderer.”

Whether or not DiMA was hurt by those words was hard to tell, forever remaining that monolith of serenity. He peered down at Nick, no hint of emotion on his face. “The offer is there. All I ask is that you think about it.”

Nick huffed, suddenly feeling the need to flee the situation, but the older synth was quicker. He stepped down the platform. “Talk to Faraday if you're ready. He can help you out.”

Nick wanted to sneer in anger, but somehow the courage slipped right out of him, seeing DiMA this up close.

Then he was gone once more, tending to his various duties to the community. Nick resisted the urge to follow him and ask him the hundreds of questions flooding his head, questions he had wanted to ask ever since they first met; yet every time he faced his “brother” he couldn't help but feed the anger, the frustration.

Perhaps this memory thing would be a way to understand, without having to face him directly, without having to trust him on his word.

But did he want to?

Every time he imagined entering DiMA’s memories he felt horrified by the implications.

He couldn't.

He had to tear his gaze away from the chair, retreating into his room. But in the next couple of hours nothing helped, and his mind kept snapping back to the idea. As a naturally curious person it was tempting, sure, but a dark part of him was scared, terrified that DiMA and Faraday would manipulate him while he would be most vulnerable. Could he trust them? Then again, could he ever go back to the commonwealth _not_ knowing _?_

That last thought turned out to be the deciding factor. No, not now that he was so close to knowing the answers to questions he had asked himself for a century. His very identity hinged on DiMA, and what he the old synth knew. He couldn't let this opportunity slip.

The next morning he caved. He sought out Faraday.

“Ah mister, um, Valentine.” The young synth spoke, betraying mild surprise “can I… help you?”

Nick nodded “I want to take DiMA up on his offer.”

“What?” He responded, puzzled, before his eyes glistened with recollection “Oh, oh right, yes, the memories.”

He brought Nick into the observatory's domed hall. The only sounds there were some small song birds, sitting perched on one of the many tattered roof segments. Nick peered up, seeing the warm morning glow brushing past the dead terminals on the walkway wall. Nobody was here, save for them. The other synths had no business here, as this room required all space available for DiMA’s data banks.

“Take a seat.” Faraday gestured without looking at Nick, he was facing a terminal terminal nearby, inputting commands.

Nick was slightly taken aback. “Uh, just like that?”

“Yes yes.” Faraday said impatiently, having a distracted air about him. “We don't need to use DiMA's complex connections for you. You're merely an observer, not transcribing any memories of your own.”

“Ah.” Nick said simply, not pretending to understand. This kind of thing was miles removed from the hacking knowledge he possessed. His skillset was far more practical after all, not so much theoretical.

He sat himself down with some discomfort. He avoided sitting back too far, lest the connectors prod him in the back.

Faraday was quiet for a bit, busying himself, before he finally wandered over and pushed a hand against the side of Nick's head, exposing his neck.

“Hey!” Nick protested in response to the somewhat rough treatment, but the younger synth completely ignored him. He pulled down some wires from an access port above and Nick could glimpse the small device attached the end of it. He was uncomfortably reminded of all those times he had spent in Goodneighbor’s memory den. All those countless hours spent in the loungers, recollecting the old Nick Valentine’s life. But he knew this wasn't going to be like that.

Without so much as asking for permission, Faraday inserted the device through the hole in Nick's neck, pushing it up towards his brain. He shifted in discomfort, this particular feeling always making him doubly aware of his synthetic existence. A few tense seconds later, Faraday stepped back towards the computer terminal. A key press later, a peculiar zinging sensation coursed through Nick's body like static.

“OK, you're all set.” Faraday said simply, turning back towards him.

“So… what do I do?”

“In a moment I'll activate the sequencer and you'll lose awareness of your direct surroundings. Then… Well, this isn't an exact science since DiMA has allowed you to remember _any_ memory.” there was a hint of something there in his voice, was it... jealousy? “Your brain will latch onto whatever you _want_ to see. So basically the first memory will form paths for you to follow. It's pretty intuitive, even if the memories might not be chronological. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Alright. I trust you will pull me out if anything goes wrong?” Nick said warily.

“Nothing will go wrong.” Faraday spoke with an air of confident arrogance.

Nick grunted, not entirely happy at the thought, but unable to back out now. He leaned back somewhat as Faraday entered a final command, and waited.  
  
His vision faded.


	6. An Old Phantom

There was a certain chill he couldn't feel on his skin, but rather at the core of his being. It wasn't uncomfortable either, simply a presence. As Nick moved through the “space” (how was he moving without legs?) He could feel warmer spots, each feeling entirely unique. He kept going until one particular spot grasped his attention. As he neared it, the heat was almost enough to burn, but it didn't hurt. Instead, he could feel his senses coming to, the blackness suddenly dissolving like mist. With a thud he could feel in the pit of his stomach, he “landed” in a memory, the colors sharper than he imagined, more vibrant.

He looked down at himself and wasn't surprised to see the cables sticking out of him, the coil over his heart, the large chunks of missing skin panels.

The knowledge of what he was going to say flooded him, and he was unable to stop himself, the words making sense as they rolled out of him.

He was standing in front of two people, two synths: Faraday and Chase.

“The submarine base was never ours to claim.” He spoke, his voice coming out soft, understanding, but with a self assured kind of determination.

“Allowing the Children of Atom a foothold on the island this is a bad idea, DiMA.” Chase said gravely, her eyes stern and worried.

“I...I have to agree with her on that one.” Faraday said timidly, obviously uncomfortable opposing DiMA like this.

“Things might be OK for _now_ ,” Chase continued “but the townspeople will always have clashing ideals. It won't take much to set off a conflict.”

Nick, or rather DiMA, shook his head sadly “I understand your grievances dear Chase, I do, but I can't turn these people away now. It's better to have them settle on the island and work on cooperation, instead of letting a conflict brew in the town. If we leave things as they are, the situation will escalate.”

“It's a temporary solution, DiMA.” Chase said warningly, her sense for these kind of conflicts sharpened after her experience as a courser.

“Your concern is noted.” DiMA said calmly, before making his way out of the control room they'd been occupying. Nick noticed it was the same place he and Atticus had visited: the place where DiMA had stored his memories.  
  
His vision blurred, returning to black. He could feel the other memories reaching out to him, hot tendrils of flame vying for his attention. He grabbed another compelling one, feeling once more as if his stomach dropped when he landed in this new recollection.  
  
It took him a few moments to realize he wasn’t on the island anymore. But neither did this place look like the Commonwealth. There was snow here. He felt his exposed metal feet, _DiMA’s feet_ , trudge through it. He was climbing a hill, knowing he wanted a better vantage point. There were sounds of following footsteps.  
  
“I’m cold, D1.” Faraday’s voice came, as he hurried to keep up with the determined synth.  
  
“We need to go just a bit further before nightfall. The more ground we can cover in the coming days, the better.”  
  
“I don’t think they’re still following me.” he said, though his voice betrayed he didn’t really believe his own words.  
  
“I know the Institute’s tenacity, Faraday. Come on, not much further now.” D1 said, not slowing down. They crested the top of the hill; there was a vast frozen lake ahead.  
  
They tried walking down to it, but there was a ledge overseeing the lake, a small cliff-face going straight into the icy water below.  
  
“Darn.” Faraday cursed, looking left and right as the body of water stretched before them, small clouds of his breath condensing into the air “We’ll have to find a way around.”  
  
Nick peered down, and caught a glimpse of himself in the thin layer of water coating the ice. The reflection showed a much younger DiMA, heavily damaged, but missing all of his characteristics wires and tubes.  
  
How long ago was this memory? Evidently before he had gotten his new name.  
  
“Come on...” he said patiently, picking a direction at random “We’ll find a spot for the night if we c-”  
  
But his sentence was cut off by a loud bang renting the air. A sharp pain followed, as a bullet bored its way through his arm, making the strained components spark angrily. DiMA yelped, falling back into the snow, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff.  
  
Instantly, Faraday had his gun drawn. Through hazed vision, Nick could see two figures standing atop the hill.  
  
Faraday jumped in front of him, in a foolish attempt to protect the battered synth. He retaliated with several shots, and a confusing firefight ensued. Nick tried his best to see through DiMA’s blurred sight, watching their assailants’ bright blue lasers puncturing the air.

The Institute.  
  
“N-no.” he croaked, but Faraday had already moved, taking cover behind a rocky outcrop. The shots seemed to be purposefully missing him, aiming to drive them into a corner, rather than kill them. They’d come looking for Faraday.  
  
The young synth dodged out from his cover, releasing another volley, but he had never been a good shot. He screamed when a laser burst hit him square in the shoulder. He slumped down into the snow, crimson blood spilling over white.  
  
Nick tried everything he could to move, but found his legs uncooperative. One of the figures moved forward, coming in close.  
  
They spoke. “B5-98, initialize factory reset, authori-” but before Nick knew what had happened, a sudden unexpected strength forced DiMA into action. He leapt forward, clumsily tackling the Institute agent to the ground. All he could hear was a loud high pitched buzz, his senses still out of whack. The woman in his grasp struggled, clearly caught unaware, and before he could stop it, she slipped over the edge, dragging him along. He could feel Faraday trying to grasp at him, calling out his designation, but it was of no use.

A few surreal moments of utter quiet later, he crashed through the ice, his hands slipping off his opponent as he plunged deep into the icy water. The tinnitus rang loudly in his ears as he struggled to make sense of his situation. He couldn’t even tell which way was up anymore.  
  
And just like that, the memory faded. There was more, but Nick felt a warmer spot just a little further on. Through his and DiMA’s shared terror, he instinctively took hold of it, making a small jump in time.  
  
As his vision cleared, he peered into the relieved face of Faraday.  
“I’m just glad you’re alright. I… I wouldn’t have known… what to do.”  
  
The knowledge, once again, came naturally to him, but he was still shocked to see the motionless body of the female agent lying next to him, her head a bloody mess of biomatter and fizzling electronic components.  
  
“I didn’t… I didn't expect her to survive that drop into the water, let alone follow me out. I… killed her.” DiMA spoke, feeling numb.  
  
“You had to do it, D1. You were defending yourself.” Faraday tried comforting his friend, recognizing the sadness in his eyes.  
  
“I didn’t know... You were telling me the truth all along.”  
  
“Yes.” Faraday paused, looking for the right thing to say “But we can’t dwell on that now. I managed to shake off the other agent, but only amidst all that confusion. If she catches us again, I don’t know if we’ll be lucky enough to escape.”  
  
“You’re right, let’s get out of here.”  
  
As he tore his gaze away from the bloodied corpse of the third generation synth, Nick felt the memory dip, but not fade entirely. Briefly, he was now staring into a woman’s eyes. It was the other institute agent… it was Chase. She looked furious.  
  
“We need to talk.” she said, demonstratively throwing both her laser rifle and sidearm to the ground.  
  
DiMA peered at her thoughtfully, before waving at a spot across from him, on the other side of the camp fire. Faraday lay sleeping in the corner of the cave, his shoulder bandaged, his back turned towards them.  
  
The young woman made to sit down, her eyes exposing a great sadness. A great regret.  
  
“I’m listening,” DiMA said, crossing his legs. The fire crackled between them for a few silent moments; then the memory faded completely.

Nick felt himself swept up in a current, forcing him into another vignette of DiMA's life, this time without much choice of his own.

He was staring into Faraday's face once more. The man wore an expression of extreme worry.

“What do you mean, you don't remember?” He said anxiously, his voice decidedly higher pitched.

“I told you,” Nick and DiMA spoke as one “you must be mistaken. That's not how things went.” But despite the confidence in his voice, he could feel DiMA's apprehension underneath.

“D1, it truly is.” Faraday said, reaching out to him, but DiMA shied away. “I think your brain is affected, by your age, amongst other things. We can work this out, but I need you to trust me.”

DiMA looked at him blearily “If you're right, and I'm truly forgetting things, what does that mean? For me?”

“It means we have to augment you. Gradually expand on your original parameters.” Faraday bit his lip, thinking deeply. “There is a place not far off. An island called Far Harbor. I've overheard rumours of the place's hostile environment, unsuitable for most humans. It's likely we can find working pre-war tech there, untouched by people; unlike the vast majority of places out here.”

DiMA nodded, knowing there really wasn't a better plan than that, no matter how hopeless. This situation had been going on for too long, and only now was he ready to face his own denial. The gaps in his memory had to stop, lest his brain cease to function altogether.

“OK. Let's do it. Let's try and find _Far Harbor.”_

“I'm sure Chase will be pleased with a new challenge.” Faraday said wryly.

Nick returned that place of blackness, no new memory immediately presenting itself. Everything had been a mess so far, but it wasn't hard to fill in the gaps. Some things he even instinctively knew, without them having been shown to him; DiMA’s perceptions had leaked into him.

He felt at a loss of what to do next, unable to grapple with the sheer volume of information contained in these data banks. He needed time.

He remained idle, hoping Faraday would notice and pull him out. He did.

A few moments later, and with a sharpened awareness of the world around him, he came to. Faraday was standing over him, the small connector clutched in his hand.

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright, considering.” Nick sighed, sitting up straighter. “How long was I in there?”

“11.6 seconds.” The scientist shrugged.

He opened his mouth to speak, but after a few moments closed it, figuring he wasn't that surprised after all. He already knew through his experiences in the memory den that time was an entirely subjective thing.

“Hm, everything was very fragmented.”

“That's normal.” Faraday said in a way that suggested that was common knowledge “Memory isn't a linear thing, so neither is the recollection those events.”

Nick looked up at him, feeling stiff and tense despite having been gone for just a few seconds. “I saw you and DiMA, near the frozen lake. And then… Chase.”

Faraday shifted uncomfortably. “Yes that, ah, incident.”

Nick looked pensive, contemplating the fact he _had been_ DiMA. In hindsight, what else had he expected? But it still left a peculiar feeling, a strange sense of sudden familiarity. He wasn't sure he liked it.

“I want to take a break for now, but I can come back later, right?” Nick asked, getting up from the chair.

“Yes. Most mornings should be alright.” Faraday shrugged, making his way down the platform to head back to his office. He didn't say another word.  
\----

“Did you find your first foray into my memories… Helpful?” A sudden voice came from Nick's left. He looked up from the book he'd been reading, some old world poetry.

The room was thick with smoke already, but DiMA didn't seem to care, standing in the doorway, his arms reservedly folded behind his back.

Nick carefully picked his words, his eyes narrowed “It's too soon to make a judgement. And for the time being, I'd rather you leave me alone.”

DiMA's posture only slightly sagged, betraying disappointment. “I see” he said softly, trying his best to smile. “I'll… give you the space you need.”

Nick nodded as a way of thanks, turning his attention back to the poems as he heard DiMA's footsteps die away.

He still wasn't entirely sure why he was being so bitter towards DiMA, feeling torn on his own feelings. On the one hand he hated himself for giving into DiMA's memories, feeling it was a ploy to manipulate him. On the other hand, he knew he could never live with himself if he didn't at least try to understand.

 _But he is a murderer._ He thought to himself as he sat on the bed to relax. His mind was going in circles now. _Yes, but if he is, so is Atticus after what happened to the Institute. You don't hold him to the same standards, do you?_  
\----

The next morning he was back again, going through the same motions as the day before. Somewhat anxiously, his mind entered the data banks, once more going by feeling, seeking out the most compelling spots.

Once more he solidified as DiMA, taking on the older synths entire state of mind as comfortably as slipping into his trench coat.  
  
He gained awareness sitting down, which momentarily confused him, as the chair seemed of similar make to the one in Acadia. But no, this was inside the Nucleus.  
  
He could hear footsteps around him and knew who it was, the words coming to his lips.  
  
“Faraday, what’s the progress on the mnemonic interface?”  
  
The other synth sighed, the sound emanating from some point behind him. “You’ve already asked me five times in the last ten minutes D1... just hang on.”  
  
“Alright.” he settled back into the chair, an anxious twinge stirring in his gut. His hand moved up to his head, absentmindedly running his fingers over the tubes and wires sticking out of him. Sure, the transformation had taken several years, but with these latest modifications, he had really altered his appearance for good.  
  
He had never been vain in any way or form, but he didn’t have much of an identity to rely on as it was. He couldn’t help noticing the people of Far Harbor looking at him more warily every time… or was that because of the rising tensions in the town? Himself, Chase, Faraday and a handful of other refugees being there only complicated matters.  
  
He pondered these issues for a few minutes, before Faraday appeared in his field of view, walking up to a terminal sat atop a trolley nearby.  
  
“Ok, these new tubes seem to be holding the trial current. Output is steady.” he mumbled to himself as he worked. “Relay to databanks in progress.”  
  
D1 could feel a zing of electricity shoot through him, but the feeling quickly disappeared as his new modifications calibrated to handle the excess.  
  
“Holding as well.” Faraday said, a slight yet satisfied smile on his face. He looked up “I think we’re finally there D1.”  
  
“Is the DMA available?” he inquired, still not entirely prepared to share in Faraday’s relief. “Can I use it reliably without corrupting my matrix?” _not like last time,_ he added in his mind.  
  
“You should be able to, yes. Try it.” Faraday’s fingers rested on the buttons of the keyboard, ready to pull his friend out at any sign of failure.  
  
D1 closed his eyes, Nick could feel his uncertainty, a roiling coil of fear twisting in his gut. He observed as the old synth conjured a memory, something fleeting, and tried to transcribe it into the databanks.  
  
Through the blackness, he could hear Faraday speak “Ok, that part is all fine. Try and retrieve the memory now. Carefully.”  
  
Another surge of worry, but D1 did as he asked. The memory seeped back into him, creating a steady ping and response between his brain and the database. The memory was simultaneously in his mind, and it _wasn’t_ , bypassing his central processing unit altogether and unable to burden his limited storage. This was the DMA doing its job. His identity had now shifted from being inherent hardware, to being this fleeting thing, existing between the lines. Filtering through the code. His code.  
  
He opened his eyes.  
  
“DiMA.” he said, the word coming to him with clarity, a sudden rush filling him.  
  
Faraday looked up from the console, puzzled “Hm? What was that?”  
  
“DiMA.” he said again, a smile starting to form as he lifted his head, the dozens of cables attached to the back of his head shifting.  
  
“Uh. Are you ok?” Faraday frowned. “Do you mean... DMA?”  
  
“That… doesn’t quite roll of the tongue as easily,” the old synth chuckled, then explained “You remember how I said I’d been looking for a name for myself? Something to… sever me from the Institute. Something to get away from that dreadful _designation_ .”  
  
“Yes,” Faraday said slowly. “Do you mean you want that to be your new name? Uh, DiMA, was it?”  
  
“Indeed. It seems… fitting,” DiMA nodded “ _Who I am now_ lives in this kind of quantum state; an ever flickering motion of being and not being, and the DMA facilitates this.”  
  
“That sounds very philosophical.” Faraday said, straightening out.  
  
“Perhaps it is.” he reflected “Do you think it suits me?”  
  
“Well, I’m not going to tell _you_ what to call _yourself_ D1- I mean, DiMA.” It was obvious that the name was slightly uncomfortable to him, having used his designation for many years now. Regardless, the man was obviously trying his best to oblige. “It does have a nice ring to it.” He smiled carefully.  
  
He turned his attention back to the terminal. “It looks like everything is stable. You can disconnect now.” He wandered over to DiMA, who’d already begun tugging at the cables.  
  
“This is really cumbersome.” he said “We’ll probably have to improve the chair’s accessibility if I’m going to use it a lot.”  
  
“You will have to… DiMA.” Faraday agreed, loosening the last of the cables and allowing the synth to get up. “I hate to say it, but you’re dependant on these machines now. Your brain can only temporarily hold all of the composite memories, they’ll start to fade after a few days, so you’ll need to, in a sense, _recharge_ .”  
  
“I’m not planning on going anywhere,” DiMA said quietly, running his exposed fingers over the tubes once more, still getting used to them being there, changing his silhouette forever. “I’ve found my purpose on this island. With the synths we’ve already met along the way, and Chase’s burgeoning network, we can build a stable community up here.” He turned to face his friend “I couldn’t have done it without you.”  
  
Faraday tried looking anywhere but directly into his eyes, his face decidedly redder than before. “Well, um, you saved my life... More than once. This is the least I could do.”  
  
Nick felt the memory waning, but the impression that there’d been more to this moment clung to him as the darkness swirled around him like a dust cloud, obscuring his view. He wandered the blind path once more, curious what was next.  
  
He spent what felt like the next few hours travelling with Chase, shortly after she had defected from the Institute. Their conversations had been mostly practical, about the logistics of setting up a secret community, away from the Institute’s prying eyes.  
  
The memory after that was brief and confusing, obviously further back in time. Nick could see DiMA’s relatively unharmed body, save for numerous cracks along the weak points. But more interestingly, he seemed to have been… _overgrown_ . A fine moss was clinging on to his legs and vines and flowers of all sorts of species twisted and curled around him, never quite trapping him, but cradling him nonetheless.  
  
He was swept away from that recollection just before he realized that this had been DiMA’s personal exile in the cave. He had mentioned this when they’d first met. He could still feel the sense of emptiness clinging onto him like dust; a great sense of regret, withdrawal and aimlessness. How had he ever done this? Survived this? His inhuman mind so adaptable yet trapped in this lack of purpose and direction.  
  
How had he come to the realization that he could give his own life meaning?  
  
What would have happened if he never had?  
  
Nick stood in the darkness, a shiver running down his non-corporeal spine, the thoughts haunting him. But he shook himself before long, knowing Faraday would pull him out if he remained idle for too long. He walked on, seeking something else. Eventually he reached out to something small and faded, yet giving the distinct impression it had once been burning bright, having left its mark on the surrounding space.  
  
He materialized and he was… inside the Institute. Nick's mind briefly panicked, not sure if he wanted to see any of this, but DiMA's calm composure rubbed off on him.

He was sitting at a table, a scientist across from him, droning a list of questions. He answered to the best of his abilities, and this exercise seemed to go on for at least an hour. Nick wondered when it was going to end, until finally the scientist got up and left. A small group of first generation synths filed in, guiding him through the familiar corridors towards another holding room. Nick could sense DiMA's elation, _his elation,_ he knew what was going to happen.

He entered the room, and as the doors zipped shut, he found himself staring at… himself. A younger, far cleaner and undamaged Nick Valentine. Valentine the synth.

“N1-V4.” The designation spilled out of him.

This wasn't Nick? He felt puzzled underneath it all, but DiMA seemed self assured.

“D1-M4!” the other synth smiled, beckoning him over.

He slowly wandered over to the bed onto which he was sitting, lowering himself to the floor, legs folded.

“I learned something new today.” N1-V4 said excitedly “humans do this weird thing where they kind of heave their shoulders.” He demonstrated awkwardly. “My database calls it a _shrug_ but I've never seen one in action before, until one of the scientist did it earlier. Isn't that _weird?_ ”

DiMA, or “D1-M4” back then, chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it is a strange gesture.”

The younger synth shrugged again, exploring the feeling of that motion. “I can't get over how I _know_ all these things, yet I still don't quite feel familiar with them.”

“It's only natural.” D1-M4 nodded “Knowing is not the same as understanding, after all.”  
  
“But _why_ ...”  
  
Nick, through D1-M4’s eyes, peered into that innocent face: a young synth, brand new to this all, who was simply full of wonder and eager to share his experiences with his only friend. Nick, remembering all that DiMA had told him, felt troubled about this pre-personality-implant synth. He felt troubled about N1-V4.  
  
He resisted the memory, trying to move away from it. Although the conversation between the two synths continued, the sound and light became dimmer as Nick pushed away from it as if struggling in a strong current. He couldn’t stand seeing this any longer.  
  
The synth before the implants… he had been a _person_ , all unto himself. What had happened to him? Nick tried remembering DiMA’s words again, tried to see if there was anything in the old synth’s words that had suggested _he hadn’t been an empty shell_ . Of course, it made sense, but he had never directly thought about it.  
  
He felt a sharp pang of doubt surge through him, unable to handle the memories any longer. He waited for Faraday to pull him out.  
  
As he came to, he doubled over forward, heaving.  
  
“Valentine! Are you alright?” Faraday’s worried voice came. Nick slowly got up, turning to face the man, a wan smile on his face.  
  
“Yes, yes, I’m alright. I just need a moment.” he tried his best to control his breathing, unable to understand why his body was reacting like that.  
  
“You were in there for a minute this time. Many times longer than the last session. I’m not sure if this is entirely wise.” he scratched his chin absentmindedly “I didn’t expect it to stress your neural matrix out as much as it did. We’ll have to be more careful next time.”  
  
“Ok. That’s fine by me.” Nick said, having calmed down now. He wasn’t even sure if there was going to be a _next time_ , apprehension filling him. “Listen, Faraday, has DiMA ever told you much about… about me?”  
  
Faraday tilted his head slightly, obviously thinking deeply. “Hm, no, not much. He’s mentioned you, of course, but no more than that.”  
  
Nick straightened out his hat, after it having shifted during his time in the memory banks. “Nothing about the synth he befriended before the memory implants started?”  
  
Faraday shook his head vigorously at this “No, I’m sure I would know that if he’d mentioned it.”  
  
The thought of having to talk to DiMA directly about this worried Nick. He still didn’t feel ready to face him, yet the questions within him burned to be answered.  
  
_Who had he been?_  
_  
_ Who had he become?

He thanked Faraday and made his way out of the building, hankering for some fresh air and a smoke.  
  
God he wished he could talk to Atticus right now, that man always knew what to say to put his mind at ease. Having to question your already fragile identity after barely getting to a point of comfort was unsettling. After everything he’d gone through: his waking up in the wasteland, his memories of being a pre-war cop, his rise as one of the more respected members of Diamond City… 

More strongly than ever,

He felt it was all just an imperfect facade,

Ready to come crumbling down.


	7. Don’t You Dare Forget Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What if the path you put them on leads straight to Acadia’s demise?” the words sounded sarcastic, but Nick was being serious.
> 
> “There… there is no way of knowing.” DiMA climbed the platform to his chair, briefly leaning into the wall with one arm, looking exhausted. He turned around slowly, running his fingers past the components on his forearm, inspecting the wires.
> 
> “Isn’t there?” Nick pressed on.
> 
> “You sound like you’re expecting something of me,” DiMA spoke wearily.

He watched the smoke curl up into the evening air. He had sat here for hours, his mind flitting between all the questions DiMA’s memories had raised.  
  
Had it been a good idea, agreeing to all this? He had come out the other end _more_ clueless than before. Then again, being a detective through and through, he knew the truth wasn’t always pleasant.  
  
But the truth was important.  
  
When the sun set so low he could barely see anymore he got up slowly, his stiff joints aching, heavy with the burden he carried.  
  
_There was still much to be learned_ , he pondered as he pushed open Acadia’s front door; but did he want to get back into that database? After all this? He peered down the hallway at DiMA’s silhouette; his and Chase’s voices quietly echoed down to him. He made a sharp right for the staircase, ignoring them.  
  
Back in his own room, he took off his hat and coat, throwing them onto the bed more vigorously than was strictly necessary. Glassy-eyed, he looked down at his hands; one whole, the other broken. The futility of everything filled his synthetic nerves, driving him to clench his fingers into fists, a deep sadness rolling over him.  
  
He spent the night doing nothing but lying down, staring at the ceiling. He missed Atticus, he missed Ellie. Those two had been his lifeline for a long time now, and he felt cast adrift without them.  
  
\----  
  
“DiMA, you have to go down to Far Harbor talk to them,” Faraday pleaded just as Nick entered the vaulted space of the observatory. He came to a halt in the shadow of the corridor, watching as Chase stepped out from behind the rows of databanks.  
  
“No, there’s no reason to.” she said decisively, folding her arms. “You’d just be making their suspicions worse.”  
  
Both synths were looking up at their leader, who was standing off to the left, eyeing the two of them in turn before noticing Nick. He didn’t say anything to acknowledge him, simply stating: “I know this is a precarious situation. We… need to wait until the vault dweller, Atticus, returns. He will be able to help us out.”  
  
At the mention of his friend’s name, Nick stepped forward. “What do you need him for?” he spoke, startling both Chase and Faraday, his tone more rough than intended.

“Ah, Nick.” DiMA dipped his head as he always did, gesturing for him to step forward.

He did so.  
  
“If you need him for another one of your… your _schemes,_ you can forget about it!” His voice echoed sharply in the open space, his words hanging heavily.

DiMA raised his hands in an attempt to appease him. “It's nothing appalling… We just-”

“Tektus, _the real Tektus,_ has been spotted by some of the harbormen who work more closely near the main coast.” Chase cut in impatiently, clearly tired of emotions getting in the way of practicality. “This has caused some rumors about the Tektus currently in the Nucleus. It doesn't necessarily mean they suspect he's a fraud, but perhaps they believe the original Tektus is planning an attack.”

Nick nodded, understanding where this was going “And the people of Far Harbor are still on edge after all that has happened. Paranoid after Tektus’ sudden change of heart. Is that it?”

“Correct.” She said matter-of-factly.

“So what are you dragging Atticus into this time?” Nick said, just a hint of a snarl around his lips as he folded his arms.

“I want to request him to seek out the old Tektus. Perhaps take him back to the Commonwealth, away from prying eyes,” DiMA said patiently, adding, before Nick could respond: “This is for his own safety as much as preserving the peace on the island. There's simply too much at stake.”

“You should have thought about that before you took three innocent lives,” Nick spat angrily, unable to contain his frustration any longer.

DiMA peered down at him, his face carefully neutral, but his eyes still betraying sorrow. He didn't respond to that remark.

Chase stepped forward “OK listen, whatever happened, we have to deal with the situation as it is now. Right now, Atticus stands a better chance than me to seek out Tektus, as my presence would once again attract too much attention.”

Nick grudgingly conceded to this fact.

“Now if you would excuse me, I'm going down to Far Harbor to look for the vault dweller,” she said with an undertone of _you two behave yourselves_. She strode out of the room, her tattered long coat sweeping behind her.

Faraday had been quiet for a while now, awkwardly turning away and stalking off towards his office.

Silence fell, and both of the old synths were momentarily afraid to break that fragile peace.

Nick dropped his arms, his posture suddenly defeated. “You keep digging yourself into a deeper hole, DiMA,” he said, quietly now “This charade won't last forever. You can't fix lies with more lies.”

“So what do you propose?” For the first time, there was defensiveness in DiMA's voice, exposing the storm underneath that cool exterior. “Do you not believe I have haven’t used everything in my power to keep these people from fighting? You weren't there, all those years ago.”

“Are you telling me _I don't know what it was like?_ Because let me tell you, pal, that argument never holds up. I've been alive for long enough to _know,”_ Nick seethed.

“And so have I,” DiMA retorted, punctuating every word.  
  
The detective leered at him, wanting to say so many things, but not knowing where to start. He remembered what he had seen in the databanks the day before. In his agitation, he couldn’t stop himself asking the question. “Who was N1-V4?”  
  
“W-what?” DiMA said, taking a step back, momentarily confused by the change of topic.  
  
“The synth you knew in the Institute. Who was he?”  
  
“Oh,” DiMA said quietly, averting his gaze and looking at the computers surrounding them. “He... was my friend.”  
  
“Me before me?”  
  
“In a sense, yes.” the old synth forced himself to look back into his brother’s eyes. “I thought you were already aware of him. I told you I befriended him… _you_ … inside the Institute. And that your personality went back and forth between being the default personality and Nick Valentine.” He shifted his weight onto his other leg “He was the one I made the promise to. The promise to leave him behind if things became irreversible.”  
  
“Yeah,” Nick said, somewhat impatiently “I guess I was aware of his existence, but I never quite realized how _individual_ he really was.”  
  
DiMA remained silent, a deep grief painted in his gaze.  
  
“What happened to him?” Nick pressed on “Did he... die? When my personality settled?“  
  
“No.” DiMA sighed.  
  
“What? How?”  
  
“Our brains are not quite that simple, and personalities aren’t simply a flick of the switch.” he explained, resignedly “It’s more accurate to say that his personality _merged_ with yours. Even if you don’t know it; even if you cannot call on his memories.”  
  
“But,” Nick protested “I remember so many details of Valentine’s old life. _I know who I am_ .”  
  
“Memories are staggeringly easy to change.” DiMA looked at him intently “You don’t know who you are supposed to be, because you cannot _be_ anyone but yourself. You can never step outside of your own mind.”  
  
“So I’ve been manipulated.”  
  
“No, this was no-one’s fault but the Institute’s. The new personality settled and it changed you forever.” He carefully took a few steps forward, Nick didn’t move. “But that old synth is still part of you.”  
  
Nick sighed, rubbing his forehead and shifting his hat. “So what you’re saying is that I was never an empty shell? I started off just like you?”  
  
“Yes.” DiMA nodded encouragingly.  
  
“So he could have become much more than that. What a waste of potential.” he grumbled, feeling once more that _Nick Valentine_ was an imposter and a fraud.  
  
“It doesn’t matter now, that was well over a century ago. He still contributes to who you are, and that’s all that matters.” DiMA took another cautious step.  
  
“DiMA...”  
  
“Nick?”  
  
“I’m going to need more time in those memory banks of yours.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“But in the meantime I… I want to get to know you better, the way you are now.” He had no idea what made him say it, still feeling angry and alienated from his brother. But perhaps he didn’t _want_ to feel that way. If there was a way to understand, a way to learn… didn’t he have an obligation to try for the only other prototype synth he’d ever known?  
  
“I’d like that.” a genuine smile brightened DiMA’s face as he lifted up his head somewhat, the sunlight glinting off his many tubes.  
  
Nick shifted uncomfortably, the anger over the situation with Tektus having simmered down. Chase had been right in a way, there was only one thing they could do now: deal with the situation as it was.  
  
“Come with me on my morning rounds.” DiMA offered “I want to show you what life in Acadia is like.”

Nick hesitantly agreed, and followed him around as he spoke to the various inhabitants of the settlement, getting ready for the day. His questions were surprisingly mundane, a simple inquiry about how they were feeling and if there was anything they needed. Nick noted that most of the synths responded warmly to DiMA, only the newest arrivals showing a hint of trepidation.  
  
Talking to Cog and the others who handled supplies in Acadia, he made sure everything was taken care of, pointing out where they would need to stock up on extra food for the winter.  
  
After all that was done, DiMA returned to the observatory, rubbing one of his temples. He looked like he was in pain.  
  
“So uh, you do this every day?” Nick asked awkwardly. “No delegating tasks?”  
  
DiMA smiled wanly “No, no I couldn’t do that. I need to know for myself. I want the synths here to know they can come to me with their problems. I… don’t just want to be their leader. I don’t want to appear... aloof.”  
  
“Hm,” Nick pondered “Is maintaining the fog condensers really enough to keep your community fed? What if Far Harbor decided they didn’t need you anymore?”  
  
“Ah, but we do have trade.” DiMA explained as they climbed the staircase “Some of our members strip pre-war tech for components which Far Harbor and the Children of Atom need.  
“As much as I… worry… when one of our inhabitants choses to scout the island, they are perfectly free to shape their own lives. The caps they make doing it are welcome, and most are generous to share back to the rest of Acadia.”  
  
“Sounds democratic enough,” Nick said, but with an undertone of suspicion.  
  
“Trust me,” DiMA said, his vivid eyes flicking in his direction “Nobody here is forced to do anything. The reason Acadia works is because everyone contributes to the best of his or her abilities. Some of the brightest ideas come from them, I’m only here to guide things.”  
  
“What if the path you put them on leads straight to Acadia’s demise?” the words sounded sarcastic, but Nick was being serious.  
  
“There… there is no way of knowing.” DiMA climbed the platform to his chair, briefly leaning into the wall with one arm, looking exhausted. He turned around slowly, running his fingers past the components on his forearm, inspecting the wires.  
  
“Isn’t there?” Nick pressed on.  
  
“You sound like you’re expecting something of me,” DiMA spoke wearily.  
  
Nick squinted up at him, discomfort churning in his gut; this had to be said, sooner or later. “I want you to never take an innocent life, _ever again._ ”  
  
“What makes you think I would?” the older synth responded promptly. “I never wanted to do any of this.”  
  
“Yet you did. And whether is was because of a “greater good” or you _felt_ you had no choice… _there is always a choice_ .” Nick slowly made his way up the platform “Sometimes it hurts to do the right thing, trust me I _know_ .” he was facing DiMA directly now, staring straight into those pearly eyes. His brother’s eyes. “But it’s more important than _anything_ . Because...” his voice faltered as he spoke “Because if we don’t stand up for what’s right, we are no better than those trappers out there. We are no better than _the Institute itself_ . Without justice, we can’t be the people we so desperately try to be. In your own words: Independent, free-thinking synths.”  
  
DiMA was silent, looking Nick up and down as he thought, a somber expression on his face. “You’re right,” he said slowly “And it’s what I’ve always believed, too.” he tore his gaze away.  
  
Sure, he _believed_ it, but he couldn’t always act on it; this was the burden of a leader, but could Nick truly understand that? DiMA didn’t want to start another argument, not now.  
  
“Promise me.” Nick said importantly, raising his voice slightly “ _Promise me_ you will hold onto these memories. Let it change your future, so you won’t have to manipulate others like that, ever again.”  
  
DiMA winced slightly at those harsh words. He hesitated for slightly too long, feeling conflicted. He let his cool gaze analyze the situation for a little while, before he finally spoke up: “I… will try,” his next words were tentative: “Does this mean you’re willing to forgive me?”  
  
“Forgive? No. Understand? Maybe.” Nick said, a certain grit in his voice.  
  
“That’s… reasonable.” DiMA nodded, obviously unhappy with the status quo, but figuring things could have turned out much worse.  
  
Nick wandered around. With his back turned, he reached up to touch the gigantic telescope overhead, running his fingers over the cool metal. “I wouldn’t give this kind of chance to anyone else,” he croaked. “Consider yourself lucky.”  
  
“Thank you, Nick,” DiMA breathed.  
  
He felt relieved to hear those words from his brother. Sure. A second chance. It’s all he had wanted since Nick had figured out the Island’s hidden history.  
  
But underneath it all… why he did he feel so darn guilty?


	8. The Colours That You Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in this chapter. Both extensive re-reading and editing + holiday to America has put a bit of a spanner in the works. Hope you enjoy this last foray into DiMA's memories.

The next day, Chase still wasn’t back from her search.   
  
And Nick felt conflicted.   
  
He spent the entire morning going back and forth between wanting to enter DiMA’s memories again, and feeling repulsed by the idea alone.  _ Did he really want to know? _ __   
__   
It was a stupid question.   
  
Against his own better judgment and despite the guilt, the growing anxiety and uncomfortable sense of familiarity, he chose to go back.   
  
\---   
  
The feeling of wandering around in a dark space was comfortable to him now. He reached out to the nearest memory, trying to piece together the main arc of his brother’s life story.   
  
He watched as through various encounters, DiMA made friends with the old Confessor Martin. Their companionship was interesting in a way, both men trying to answer impossibly big questions, but attempting nonetheless. Nick noticed how their conversations fulfilled some of DiMA’s needs, a kind of mental stimulation he’d been lacking for many years. It wasn’t hard to see why these two had become friends.    
  
He experienced DiMA’s pain as the confessor disappeared, a stinging helplessness and a sense of burning abandonment. His aversion towards Tektus now took on a new shape. All that he had given up in good faith, the Nucleus, his old memories, were now in the hands of people bent on taking over the island.   
  
The next memory started off quietly. He entered DiMA’s mind like a ghostly passenger, observing him climbing a winding path.

The fog got denser before it slowly cleared. The air here was fresh with the smell of rain, the trees shaking slightly as a number of startled birds, twittering loudly, flew away from this unexpected intrusion. 

DiMA's feet were muddied in the dirt; a thin layer of pine needles covered everything up here. The radstags evidently didn't travel up this far. Nick could feel the prickle of cold on the prototype’s remaining skin. As the forest cleared, the wind picked up slightly, finding more purchase this far up.

Behind him, Faraday and Chase's breaths were somewhat laboured after their extensive hike. The young man came to a halt as they passed an old rusted sign, overgrown with vines. He tore some of them away, revealing the words underneath. “Acadia National Reserve Observatory,” he mumbled.

“This is it then, we're here,” Chase said with a hint of relief.

The sound of their footsteps was the only thing that could be heard for miles. Around the last bend, the building finally came into view, the great domed roof stretching to the heavens.

“Be alert,” DiMA warned “We don't know what kind of creatures… or people… Could have made this place their home.”

“Don't have to tell me,” Chase said wryly, reminding them both that she was the only one with combat training in their midst. She took the lead, vigilant as ever with her rifle primed.

There was indeed evidence of this place having been occupied after the war. Crude wooden fortifications and numerous iron barrels populated the small courtyard. However, it seemed desolate.

Chase tried pushing open an access door with her foot, but found it wouldn't budge. A few shoulder slams later, she fell inside, quickly correcting herself as Faraday took up position behind her.

The place was musty and dark. It reeked of… something. 

“Ghouls,” Chase muttered. “Good.”   
  
In her vocabulary that meant:  _ Better than trappers _ .

With bated breath, they made their way inside, able to see sunshine up ahead in the huge vaulted space. But as they drew nearer, the smell got stronger. Aware of their presence, a small number of ghouls, splayed on the ground and up on some metal walkway, stirred. 

Chase eliminated them with pinpoint precision; the poor creatures never stood a chance. As their guttural growls died away and she and Faraday secured the space, DiMA looked around, amazed. The observatory was filled to the brim with pre-war tech. It was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, sure, but there was no doubt in his mind that these would still function after replacing deteriorated components.

“DiMA?” Faraday's voice came, it sounded concerned. The synth curiously walked around the massive telescope dominating the centre of the dome, and found his friend staring down at one of the ghouls they had just taken out.

The creature was wearing scraps of clothing, barely anything left after centuries of rot. But Faraday had flattened out some of the fabric near the chest, revealing a label, or a badge of sorts.  _ Acadia observatory research assistant,  _ it said.

Faraday looked up at DiMA, narrowing his eyes in sadness “These… people. They could have been here since before the war.”

DiMA let out a quiet sigh. “It's not unusual for feral ghouls to be old like this, Faraday.” He said, trying to calm his distress. “It's… likely that they remained here when the bombs fell, figuring that this observatory would be more defensible. Most people here either died fighting for the remaining resources in a waning world or… turned ghoul.” DiMA looked around, finding evidence of life. Empty cans, scattered mattresses and bed rolls, remains of campfires. “It looks like they lived here as cognitive ghouls before they turned feral.”

Faraday pulled out his Geiger counter. “B-but I register no radiation here…”

“we don't know what the island looked like, two centuries ago,” DiMA reasoned. Faraday nodded solemnly and stood back up, his gun rattling in his hands as he readied it once more. “Well, time to make sure this place is fully secured, I guess.” But he sounded a lot less confident than before.   
  
Nick got caught up in another memory, a much earlier one. He was walking down the streets of Far Harbor, much bigger in those days, the people not pushed to the very edge of the island. Left and right, men and women leered at him with suspicion, keeping their distance. It wasn’t long before he reached some kind of main building, door entrance flanked by guards.   
  
The men let him through and soon he was facing captain Avery, albeit a younger version of her.   
  
“Avery...” DiMA spoke, the words streaming into Nick’s consciousness like a river. “We need to discuss what to do, going forward.”   
  
“This is none of your business, DiMA.” Avery said, annoyed. “The death of that preacher is on my hands, not yours.” She leaned on her desk, palms down, shoulders hunched.   
  
“But the outcome will affect us all.” he tried, reasonably.   
  
“Allen will be dealt with in time. Don’t let the worry shatter those little tubes of yours,” she scoffed before picking up a pen and resuming to make marks on a map spread out across the table.   
  
“Avery I have to insist. You can’t let this cloud your judgement of the Children of Atom.”   
  
“Confessor Martin is all talk. He’s never given us any reason  _ not  _ to be wary.” Avery dropped the pen and straightened up. “We’ve lived on this island for generations. My kindness,  _ our kindness _ , letting both the Children and your kind live among us… it was a mistake.”   
  
“I can provide them a place to live… before things get out of hand.” DiMA opened his arms in a conciliatory manner. “The Children can still live on the Island, just not in Far Harbor. I’m sure they’d be happy to move.”   
  
Avery rubbed her temples, her expression grim. “And let them gain a foothold on the Island? Why?”   
  
“You can’t turn them back now. You know this.”   
  
“I don’t care. I can’t let them take over everything we know.”   
  
“Their brothers and sisters on the mainland will know if you reject them. It will create an even greater problem. The Children are irresistibly drawn here because of the Fog. Their convictions mandate them to seek out the island. Sooner or later, they will arrive. You can make peace  _ now _ , or… you can wait for an inevitable war.”   
  
“What the hell DiMA?” Avery said angrily. “Who are you to force my arm?!” She slammed her fist on the table, it hardly fazed the old synth. She walked around the desk, squaring up to him.   
  
The guards at the door peered in cautiously, their weapons readied.   
  
DiMA considered his next words carefully; Nick could feel the calculated arguments forming in his head. “Avery. I have stood by, unable to act, while conditions for my people have been getting worse day after day. You promised me a year ago that the synths would be safe...” he paused, but not long enough for her to interject. “And yet, they have been met with increasing hostility. Thing going so far as....  _ Interrogations _ .”   
  
“They probably deserved it,” Avery said viciously. “I couldn’t know this back then, but your people have thrown our entire way of life into disarray. A lot of my people are blaming  _ you  _ for the arrival of the Children, what with you being so buddy-buddy with the Confessor.”   
  
“You know I never-”   
  
“No, but someone’s going to take the blame. You and your people already live in that blasted submarine of yours, without my consultation. It was alright when it was just you and those two cronies of yours, but now that more and more synths are coming to the Island, my people feel threatened, and I’m  _ very  _ tempted to side with them.”   
  
“Avery, if you would please just listen, I can help the Ch-”   
  
“I’m warning you,  _ synth _ .” She said dangerously, glaring at him “If you go outside of my authority again I will kick you and your little crew of automaton misfits off this island.”   
  
DiMA didn’t give her the satisfaction of rising to that insult, simply looking down at her. “Please just think about it. Consider letting me take them under my wing.”   
  
Avery whirled around furiously, “Get out,” she snarled. DiMA didn’t take his chances, feeling the guards’ leers burning into his back. Defeated, he made his way back towards the submarine.   
  
Nick felt a wave sweeping him into a closely related memory.   
  
He, DiMA, had just been filing some of his more recent memories into the database, when Chase came running down the hallways. Faraday startled as she burst through the doors, panting heavily.    
  
“DiMA!” she said between gasps. “Avery is planning gathering a militia to force the Children off the island,  _ tonight _ .” 

The old synth promptly got up.

“Martin…?”

“He seems prepared to accept the exile if he really must, but I've overheard some of the Children planning a revolt… DiMA...” she looked at him imploringly. “This is going to get ugly.”

The older synth shook his head. “I wish it hadn't come to this.”

“What are you going to do?” Faraday said nervously.

“You two stay put.  _ Don't leave the base. _ ” His voice was unusually sharp. “Don't let anyone see you outside. Take care of the others while I’m gone.”   
  
“Where are you going?” the young synth asked again, while Chase folded her arms, a worried expression fixed on her normally confident face.

DiMA simply shook his head and made to leave.

“No! You can't just leave us like that!” A panic stricken Faraday yelped, standing in the older synth's way. Chase promptly pulled him aside. “There's probably a good reason he doesn't want us to know.”

Nick could feel the guilt spreading through DiMA's chest like wildfire. Chase was right. He left silently, while behind him Faraday's cries filled the corridor.

Nick, riding on DiMA's consciousness, knew what was coming. But he was unable to pull away from the next memory, perhaps like a deer caught in the headlights, or perhaps through some kind of morbid curiosity.  _ He had to know.  _ Even if it was going to change him. 

He materialized in this new memory, immediately noticing Avery bound and gagged beneath him. His fingers, DiMA's fingers, tore away the fabric in her mouth, cool metal fingers against burning skin. Synthetic against flesh.

DiMA stood up. Nick only briefly noticed that they were in some kind of damp cellar. He immediately recognized it as the medical facility underneath the Vim factory. How had DiMA managed to get her here?

Avery took quick ragged breaths, dried blood on her face from a recent nosebleed.

“DiMA what the fuck?” She yelled, her normally cocksure tone cracking with fear.

“I've tried to reason with you, Avery.” DiMA said, his tone strangely monotonous, detached. “Your hostility towards the Children and my kind has gone on for long enough.” He walked around lazily, his legs swinging in front of the other. “You can't force us off the island; you're not leaving me much choice.”

“Killing me is going to drag you down with me,” Avery spat, clever enough to know what DiMA was alluding to. “Are your so stupid to think the townspeople won't notice?”

“They won't.” DiMA stated simply, not elaborating. “But I'd rather not have to do this if I don't have to.” His voice now took on a pleading tone and Nick knew he meant it. “There's still a chance to stop all this.”

“I have to protect what is mine!”

“And so do I,” DiMA said miserably. He approached her, the woman straining in her binds, her yelps increasing in volume as he easily picked her up through his superior strength, placing her down on a gurney on one end of the room.    
  
“W-what?” she said, confused, right before DiMA pushed a device to the side of her head; the small apparatus emitted a high pitched whine. He held her down with his other hand, her struggling in vain.    
  
“Hold still, this doesn’t need to be painful.” DiMA said matter-of-factly. Avery madly tried to twist away, thinking this was the end. But one small electrical jolt later, DiMA lifted the device, checking a display at the front.   
  
“Hm,” he nodded, his mouth a grim line.    
  
“What the fuck is that?” Avery’s breathing quickened.    
  
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” the synth spoke calmly, placing the device on a table nearby. He janked her into an upright position, legs over the side of the gurney. He peered into her eyes, hands on her shoulders. Avery gritted her teeth, panic bubbling violently under the surface.    
  
“Avery,  _ listen to me _ .” DiMA said, his tone of voice shockingly like Nick’s, his metal thumbs digging into her flesh “Allow me to move the Children to the submarine base.  _ It doesn’t have to end this way _ .”   
  
“You’ll have to kill me, you bastard,” Avery sneered. “Do you really think I’d let you live this down if I got away?”   
  
“Why not lie?” DiMA said sadly.   
  
Avery laughed, a nervous,  _ nothing-matters-anymore  _ kind of laugh. “Are you that stupid? Would you  _ really  _ let me get away?” her stare penetrated DiMA’s soul. “Or are you just trying to “convince” me to justify what you’re about to do?”

DiMA sighed, a slow, chesty breath. He didn’t say another word, picking up another object from a nearby table. 

A gun.   
  
The metal object felt strange in DiMA’s inexperienced hands. He didn’t shake while holding it, but he still handled it like a newbie at the police academy. Nick watched helplessly as DiMA,  _ as he _ , lifted Avery with one arm, placing her down in a concrete corner of the room. 

Avery breathed heavily, clearly terrified, but didn’t plead for her life as DiMA lifted the weapon. Nick was unable to look away in these memories, unable to block out anything unless he consciously left the recollection. He wished he had the strength, the willpower.    
  
A slight whimper, whether from Avery of himself he didn’t know, was the only thing that could be heard before the gunpowder exploded, the noise filling every corner of the room. DiMA’s pain became Nick’s pain, DiMA’s guilt became Nick’s guilt.

Nick watched the grisly scene with a sense of disillusion, knowing that even this feeling wasn’t wholly his own, either. 

So this was how he’d done it.   
  
Avery had antagonized DiMA, sure, but she had never deserved  _ this.  _ Hadn’t deserved the insides of her head splattered against the wall like that. __   
_   
_ Nick pushed away from the memory, revulsion filling him. Part of him hankered to leave the memory simulation, but another part of him knew there was more to this story. He didn’t want to have  __ another  session in this damned database, so he frantically pushed onto the next memory, determined to fully understand, despite his distress. 

“...Just up there, if you don't mind.” Faraday said, pointing, but not looking up from his clipboard. The man he had been talking to rolled his eyes, clearly struggling to carry heavy equipment precisely where he wanted it. Faraday didn't notice DiMA approach; he looked stressed, frazzled.

“You should take a break.” The old synth spoke, the data flowing through Nick's mind. The young synth looked up, disoriented.

“Oh, uh, hello DiMA. N-no that's quite alright, still a lot to do.” His voice tailed off nervously.

“Faraday…” the prototype synth spoke softly. “The Children are moving their belongings too, we have several weeks to do this, It's alright.”

Around them, a dozen or so men and women, all third generation synths, chatted to one another as they unpacked things from crates, pushed trolleys and hauled heavy machinery on carts. Everyone seemed quite relaxed, enjoying the prospect of living in this brand new place… everyone... save for Faraday.

“We can't be sure that our supply route will be secure for that long. We can only hope that the trappers don't organise some kind of attack. Not to mention the fog crawlers and other creatures assaulting the guards. We're spread too thin as it is already.”

“Avery has granted us enough manpower to handle this.”

Faraday looked at him significantly, his eyes gleaming meaningfully. “DiMA, whatever you did to convince Avery…”

“I talked to her.” The synth cut in.

“...right.” Faraday said slowly. “Either way, I still don't trust her. After all the threats and pushing around, she agrees with your plan to rehome the children  _ and  _ she assists us like this?”

“She won't turn against us,” DiMA said resolutely “She wouldn't have allowed the Children to move to the Nucleus if she planned to attack. She wouldn't allow them to root themselves on the island. This is a show of good faith, it's best if we're thankful for that.”

Faraday peered at him from the corner of his eyes, wary and anxious. “If you say so,” he sighed.

Nick sensed, he  _ knew,  _ that DiMA had extracted the memories of Avery’s murder at this point in his timeline. He couldn’t feel a shred of guilt or deception in the old synth’s mind. Such convenient self-delusion, he thought wryly.   
  
He fought away from this memory too, frustrated. This wasn’t what he’d been looking for. He felt ahead, passing by all the warm spots until he found one that glowed brightly, interconnected with a lot of the previous memories he had seen.   
  
He was peering into a young woman’s eyes now. They were underneath the Vim factory once more. This was it.   
  
He watched, feeling increasingly sick to his stomach as DiMA coerced and manipulated a young synth into taking on Avery’s identity. Sure, she agreed to it in the end, but she had never truly had a  _ choice. _

Nick moved away from the repugnant memory shortly after he learned that DiMA had programmed Avery’s personality in such a way, that her “change of mind” would be convincing to the people of Far Harbor. Brand new sub-routines guaranteed a kind of open-mindedness in the new Avery, a favorable disposition to those “different”. She would prove to be a startlingly effective town leader, DiMA had made sure of that.    
  
Through sheer desperate willpower, Nick struggled out of the database. He temporarily felt like he was floating, weightless, before landing with a thud back into his corporeal body, the smell of rain filling his nostrils as he took a sharp intake of breath.   
  
“Oh my god!” Faraday gasped. Quickened footsteps, before two heavy hands pushed down on his shoulders. “What the… how did you?”   
  
Nick looked up blearily. “I needed to be out of there,” his voice was slightly slurred as he tried to get up, but Faraday held him in place, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat.    
  
“No! Don’t you move. I need to make sure you haven’t corrupted your matrix, pulling a stunt like that. What were you thinking?!” he watched as Faraday moved back to the terminal, hastily entering commands.   


Nick groaned, a numbness spreading through him as the device in his head gave off small electrical impulses. “S-stop that,” he stammered.    
  
“Too late now,” Faraday spoke like an angry parent.   
  
A few moments later, he finally walked back over and pulled the connector free. “You’re lucky you didn’t damage anything serious. I managed to repair the corrupt sectors just in time, too. I didn’t even think it was possible for a synth to exit the simulation voluntarily. H-how…?”

“Like I said, I  _ really wanted out _ ,” Nick said testily, getting up now.   
  
“We can’t do this again unless you tell me why and how you did it, it would simply be too dangerous.”   
  
“No need to worry, there won’t  _ be  _ another time. I’ve seen enough.”   
  
Faraday breathed out, releasing a sigh he didn’t know he’d been holding. “So… you’ve seen… you’ve seen what happened to Avery.”   
  
Nick gave him a curt nod, his expression one of numb detachment. Faraday looked like he was going to say more, but Nick raised a stern hand “I don’t want to discuss this. Not now.”   
  
Faraday deflated, but conceded, letting Nick get away from him, away from that awful dome, away from those horrible memories.    


He slammed open Acadia’s front door just as thunder cracked in the distance. The air had a strange electric smell to it. Nick fumbled in his pockets, desperate for a cigarette. With trembling hands he lit it and inhaled deeply. He bounced on his heels, peering at the swirling clouds in the distance, level with the mountain. Acadia was too far up to ever get much rain, making Nick feel as if he was stranded on an island amidst a sea of clouds, roiling and churning just below.   
  
As violent as the storm looked, it was no match for how Nick felt. He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if this had been a good idea, after all.   
  
_ Ignorance is bliss. _   
  
But as a detective, both in profession and in heart and soul, had he ever had that privilege?


	9. Don’t feel. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.

Nick felt bitter anger burning in his chest for the rest of the day, unable to face DiMA. Sure, he _understood_ DiMA’s motivations for destroying three lives. Nothing had truly changed, except for what he’d seen.  
  
What made it all worse was the impression the memory banks had left on him. His personification of DiMA, in which he had _become_ his brother. This hadn’t been much of an issue with the simpler memories, though the feeling of experiencing intrinsic feelings was certainly strange. No, experiencing the extreme grief, guilt and anger of those last few memories… Nick wasn’t sure how to cope.  
  
He devoured the books in his room, desperate to distract himself by any means, postponing the moment he would have to face this ugly mess.  
  
But his reprieve didn’t last long. Chase called.  
  
“Valentine,” she said, entering his room without knocking, having a rushed look about her. “Please, come with me.”  
  
Curious though guarded, Nick followed her back to Acadia’s upper level, back to DiMA. The old synth was pacing back and forth on the platform, Nick had never seen him this agitated, not even in the memory banks.  
  
“Nick,” he said, his voice cracking as he spoke his name. “Chase was successful in finding Atticus. Your friend has agreed to help us, but another problem has arisen.”  
  
“Allen, Allen Lee, is stirring up trouble,” the ex-courser filled in. “Despite our efforts to calm things on the side of the Children of Atom, the new Tektus hasn’t had enough time to quell the townspeople’s paranoia. Allen is calling for pre-emptive attacks and by the sound of it, the people are slowly turning to him.”  
  
Nick grunted. “So even with the old Tektus out of the picture, even with this new… _Atom demands peace_ ... there isn’t much you can do to prevent a war. What a surprise.”  
  
DiMA tilted his head slightly in response to the blatant sarcasm, eyes calculating, confused. “Nick, why-”  
  
“Oh _shut up_ you two!” Chase exclaimed, startling both synths into silence. “This is not the time. We need to do something.”  
  
“Do we?” Nick uttered. “Why not let these people sort out their own problems for once? Maybe it’s time to slacken the reins you have cast across his island.”  
  
“Don’t be stupid,” she hissed. “We’re far from impartial, and Acadia’s survival _depends_ on Far Harbor and the Children now. I wish as much as you that we never got entangled in this mess, but here we are now, and I’d rather not get caught between two warring groups.

“I am responsible for these synths’ safety, and I take that duty _very_ seriously.” her eyes were ablaze as she spoke. Nick briefly admired this woman’s determination, before straightening his back a little.  
  
“You’re right, of course, but why not attempt to mediate through… I don’t know… _talking_ ? Or is the concept of polite discourse so alien to this post-war society that murdering one-another is the only option left to us?” his gaze snapped to DiMA as he said those last few words. The older synth averted his eyes.  
  
Chase grimaced. “I hope for you, mister Valentine, that your trust in these stubborn people to conduct such talks is not entirely misguided.”  
  
“I have been trying to organize talks for a while now, but have been unsuccessful so far,” DiMA clarified. “I am very much aware of the issues surrounding any of this, and Allen’s actions aren’t going to make things easier.”  
  
“Let me help, let Atticus help. He has some sway with both groups, it might give us an edge,” Nick offered, thinking on his feet.  
  
DiMA stared at him for a few moments, calculating the risks, before nodding slowly.  
  
\---  
  
A few days later and through Atticus’ assistance, the two groups grudgingly agreed to hold a meeting. At first, noise from both faction indicated sizable groups of delegates, people eager to defend their own position, but also all too eager to show their displeasure.  
  
It wasn’t hard to see that this way, things would quickly escalate, so Acadia pressed the importance of keeping these first talks small. The leaders and their right hand men.  
  
Avery and Allen on one side and Tektus and Richter on the other.  
  
\---  
  
Nick was standing outside the building they had arranged to be neutral ground, an old mansion in a surprisingly good state, when Atticus appeared around the corner.  
  
The man had a black eye, clearly visible even on his dark skin. It hadn’t been there when they had parted ways almost a week ago.  
  
“Nick!” Atticus’ face brightened and had a sudden spring in his step as he approached. Nick smiled, a strangely alien feeling after several days of disenchantment. He called his friend’s name in return, standing in front of him rather hesitantly, before Atticus took the initiative and pulled him into brief but firm hug. Something in Nick’s chest fluttered, elated to finally be around someone he could truly trust. His best friend.  
  
“What happened to your face?” Nick observed as he stepped back, taking a drag of his cigarette.  
  
The vault dweller’s cheeks flushed. “I, ah, hm.” he coughed. Nick sensed this wasn’t just the result of some fight or another, and he respected his friend too much to push him for answers. He raised one hand and grinned. “Alright, keep your secrets, doll.”  
  
Atticus smiled awkwardly, averting his face and changing the topic. “Are the others here yet?”  
  
“Just me and Chase for now. She is currently securing the place, making sure there is no foul play.”  
  
“Makes sense,” Atticus nodded. He shifted his weight, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his parka. “Have you… have you sorted things out with DiMA yet?”  
  
Nick locked eyes with him, understanding that Atticus knew every part of his dilemma. Heck, this man probably knew him better than most people could ever claim, even his brother.  
  
“Not quite. I certainly _know_ more, but I’m not sure if that was for the best.” The smoke billowed out of Nick’s mouth as he spoke, stirring the minute traces of Fog shrouding this place.  
  
Atticus eyes scanned him “You know you’re under no obligation to accept him, right? It’s good that you try, but when it really comes down to it...”  
  
Nick sighed “Yeah - yeah I know.”  
  
He didn’t know the answers. Didn’t know what he wanted. It was too much to think about right now, so it was easier to focus on the matter at hand.  
  
He gave a short cough. “So uh, any luck… finding your uh… target?” He muttered, keeping his voice down just in case.  
  
“Not yet,” Atticus’ eyes briefly scanned their surroundings. “But I have a good lead I’m going to follow up on after these negotiations.” The man cocked his head slightly, observing the synth’s body language. “You don’t need to worry Val, I got this.”  
  
Nick relaxed slightly. “Right… right.” He took another drag of his cigarette, momentarily closing his eyes. “If things went awry on the Island, I’m not sure how I’d feel.”  
  
“You feel we’re responsible?” Atticus said perceptively.  
  
The detective nodded curtly. The man’s eyes glistened with sympathy “We’ll sort this out, ok? You and me. No-one else has to die.”  
  
“I dearly hope so.” But Nick gave him a watery smile regardless, thankful for his friend’s confidence.  
  
\---  
  
An hour later, the tension in the room was palpable as all delegates had arrived, seated on opposite ends of a large worn-yet-ornate table. Avery smoothed her hands along the surface, looking imposing despite being the shortest person there.  
  
Tektus steepled his fingers just below his chin, his eyes piercing. Nick, sitting off to the side, briefly realized how bizarre this situation was. Both leaders were unknowing synth plants, and yet they _didn’t_ behave in the most favorable manner possible, still retaining some of their old ideas in regards to seeming “authentic”. Sure, DiMA could have made them entirely complacent, but their respective followers would have seen right through that. A balance had to be struck.  
  
Heck, Nick was more worried about convincing their right-hand men, Allen and Richter, whose ideologies clashed disastrously, and both of whom wielded significant influence amongst their people.  
  
“So,” DiMA started, standing up at the head of the table, spreading his arms. “We know why we’re all here today.” He continued to stipulate the conditions of their negotiations, putting extra emphasis on trying to resolve this dispute peacefully, imploring both parties to see the situation from a neutral point of view.  
  
Chase’s skepticism proved to be right as the discussions unfolded, neither party conceding to the other, accusations flying back and forth. Far Harbor still deeply suspected that the Children were responsible for the fog, along with plotting behind their backs, while the latter responded with mistrust about the townspeople scheming pre-emptive attacks.  
  
“Why don’t you just tell us what you’re planning, and we can get this over with,” Allen sneered, the venom in his voice penetrating the room. “We all know your _Atom demands peace_ bullshit is just a ruse.”  
  
“We’re not planning anything,” Richter retorted, his hands grasping the edge of the table in anger. “I should slay you for even suggesting such a thing. For long enough, Far Harbor has taken the land that rightfully belongs to Atom!”  
  
Allen shot up from his seat, trembling with rage. DiMA made a move to stop him, hand against his chest, but the man ignored him, staring right into the grand Zealot’s eyes. “ _We_ have allowed you onto _our_ island. If it wasn’t f-”  
  
Richter shot up in turn, snarling. “You killed one our people!” He shouted. Tektus grabbed his arm, holding him back.  
  
“Woah woah, that’s enough!” Avery made herself heard, standing up. Everyone turned in her direction, listening. She sighed and called for a break.

After a short while, they tried again.  
  
Allen always turned out to be the instigator, the gruff harborman unable to shake himself from his preconceptions. Even Atticus’ influence didn’t seem to help matters much.  
  
The talks ended on a sour note, neither party coming to an agreement. But the talking had gone on for hours, and they couldn’t risk escalating things any further, so it was time to call it a day.  
  
DiMA looked on morosely as the groups dispersed. “I don’t feel we have made any difference,” he said, his voice dull.  
  
“Well, look on the bright side, no-one’s dead this time.” Nick snarked, feeling on edge after hours of mental strain.  
  
DiMA gazed in his direction, unable to grapple with the scorn in his brother’s voice. Atticus raised one eyebrow curiously.  
  
“No-one ever said this was going to be easy. We’ll keep trying,” the vault dweller said. “At least we’ve given them something to think about, making them aware of the consequences if they decide to resort to violence.”  
  
Nick grabbed his trenchcoat and slung it over his shoulder, making his way outside. Atticus followed on his heel, only leaving DiMA and Chase alone inside the building.  
  
\---

The synth and the vault dweller parted ways again, Atticus pursuing his goal of finding the old Tektus, while Nick stayed in Acadia once more. He wasn’t sure why he agreed to stay, his mistrust of DiMA greater than it had ever been.  
  
But this story wasn’t over, not yet, and both of them knew that.  
  
Several days later, Chase brought troublesome news. “Some of our scavengers have just returned and reporting seeing Allen Lee snooping around the south harbor,” she explained.  
  
DiMA got up from his chair promptly, his expression darkening. “Where exactly?” he asked gravely.  
  
“The… the old Vim factory.” she said uncomfortably, shifting her weight to her other foot.  
  
DiMA gritted his teeth. “No…” his voice came out strained. “No, how could he possibly know?”  
  
Nick had been on a smoke break, had seen Chase’s worried expression as she came into the courtyard. He followed her in after a few moments, listening in on her and DiMA’s conversation as he approached.

“Isn't it obvious?” Nick said, his voice an ironic drawl. His feet scuffed against the concrete as he came to a halt inside the dome. DiMA and Chase both turned to face him.

“What do you mean?”

“Allen’s resolve to do something about the Children is only getting stronger. But, he knows he can't do anything without the town's support.” He leaned against one of the data banks, folding his arms, the eerie blue glow illuminating his features. “And what better way to do that than to dig up dirt?”

Chase cocked her head “But there's no feasible way for him to know _where_ to look.”

“Think about it.” Nick pushed off from the data bank, circling the platform slowly as he spoke. “The vast majority of mainlanders visiting the island come for trade, and most leave soon. Atticus is probably the first to stick around for any length of time. The fact that the status quo with the Children broke so soon after his arrival, paired with the fact Allen is naturally suspicious of mainlanders…”

“...means he's retracing Atticus’ steps across the island?” DiMA finished.

“I suspect so yeah.” Nick's eyes raked across his brother's silhouette. “You might make a detective yet.” But it came out more sarcastic than friendly.

“He can't find out… it puts everything at stake,” DiMA said sadly.

“Again with the juggling of lies,” Nick rolled his eyes. “Whatever you plan to do, it won't stop Allen, he can smell this conspiracy from a mile away; that much was clear during our talks _._ ”

“It's not a conspiracy,” DiMA asserted.

“Sure it isn't. It's a solution, right?” Nick mocked him.

DiMA put up his hands. “Talking hasn't worked, something you were so adamant about.”

“Wait… what... are you holding me responsible?!” Nick spat. “You're not tipping this on me, DiMA.”

“I'm not, I just-” he faltered, looking crestfallen. “Look,” he continued, picking himself up again. “There isn't much he can find out there. I made sure to erase all the evidence after you and Atticus gave me back my recollections.”

“It’s a goddamn makeshift medical facility, DiMA,” Nick derided. “Even with all the evidence gone, Allen is clever enough to understand that this… this isn’t normal. And that’s when he will start digging deeper.”

“Exactly,” DiMA emphasized. “He's going to find _something_ to support his cause. He's determined to attack the Children. So either way, Allen needs to be stopped.”

Nick peered at him cautiously, his eyes speaking volumes. “DiMA…” he started, warningly.

His brother's eyes shimmered. “I'm going to find him.”

At this, Chase stepped forward. “Don't be a fool, you're not going anywhere. _I_ will look for him.”

“I cannot allow you to do that,” the old synth responded firmly.

“DiMA, if given the chance and the slightest justification, he will kill you.” Chase argued, her voice taking on a softer, more motherly quality at this.

DiMA gave her a watery smile. “I promise you everything will be fine.”  
The two stared at each other for a moment, their history unfolding before Nick’s eyes… then, having weighed the situation, the ex-courser nodded.

Disbelief filled him, prompting Nick to stepped forward, his fists balling at his sides. “I'm not going to stand idly by while you make another grave mistake!” He snapped, eyes darkened, glaring at his brother.  
  
DiMA tipped his head in his direction. “This isn’t up for debate, Nick.”  
  
“What isn’t? That’s you’re going to commit another murder?” Nick sneered, getting even closer, as if he was going to do something, anything, to stop him.  
  
“ _Allen isn’t innocent_ ,” DiMA punctuated every word, his voice still calm, but his eyes burning.  
  
“No, you can’t-!” Nick made a move to grab DiMA, shake him from his madness, but Chase rushed in, janking him backwards by his collar and wrenching his arms behind his back, holding him in a lock.  
  
The detective gasped in surprise and struggled before realizing that Chase _was also a synth_ , and physically similar if not superior to himself; let alone the fact she was a highly trained courser.  
  
DiMA nodded in Chase’s direction, peering into her eyes over Nick’s shoulder. “What the hell! Let me go!” Nick frantically tried to wrench himself loose.  
  
Chase sighed, ignoring his pleas and effortlessly holding the second generation synth in place. “Do what you must, DiMA,” she said dejectedly.  
  
“What?! NO!” Nick yelled, feeling the plating on his arms creak dangerously as he twisted and turned. His eyes followed DiMA as he made his way down the platform, every stride feeling like another punch in the stomach. “You do this and I’ll bring you to justice myself!” Nick said desperately. He felt one of Chase’s arms come up and push his head down vehemently, her anger and protectiveness abundantly clear in that gesture. Nick cried out in pain as he got forced down to to the ground, the courser now almost entirely on top of him, knee planted firmly into his lower back.  
  
“DiMA!” Nick yelled. The old synth stopped in his tracks, slowly turning around. There was no hint of emotion on his face. Never before had he looked this much like… like a machine; like those older, hostile synths out there… it momentarily silenced Nick. He stopped struggling, his entire body relaxing as he gave in.  
  
“Brother...” DiMA whispered, his voice a monotone. “Justice will only get you so far.”  
  
Nick gritted his teeth, staining to look up with Chase’s hand at the back of his neck. “Don’t… don’t throw away everything you are, everything you could be.”  
  
The older synth lowered his eyelids, veiling that icy gaze. He bowed his head, the cables and tubes and actuators and heatsinks suddenly so vivid, so _evident_ . And then, he turned around, walking away.  
  
“No! Stop! NO!” Nick started struggling again and the courser’s hand shot up to the side of his face, pressing his cheek into the floor. Nick winced, his hat knocked off his head. Blearily he looked at DiMA’s metal feet as they clacked against the stone floor, carrying him away.  
  
When he was gone, Chase finally let Nick go, jumping to her feet and readying her gun. The detective kneeled up, dusting off his hat and slowly got back to his feet, only turning to her after a few moments, his eyes shooting daggers.  
  
“I thought you were on my side.” His voice was calm enough, but his hands were shaking as he straightened his coat, tugging at his cuffs.  
  
“This isn’t personal, Valentine,” she said, waving the gun in the direction of the hallway, forcing him to walk.  
  
“You’re loyal to DiMA.” Nick stated, sighing and facing away from her as he made his way down the stairs.  
  
“Yes. He’s been our leader for many years now, and he’s never failed us,” the devotion clear in her voice. “I’m sorry I have to do this, but I can’t let you go until DiMA has returned.”  
  
“You’re seriously going to let him kill Allen? Are you insane? Can’t you see how screwed up this is?”  
  
“Allen’s the cause of all our trouble.” She poked the muzzle of the gun in his back, urging him on.  
  
“Is he really?” Nick said, annoyed. “DiMA caused this mess in the first place! Allen wasn’t the first and he won’t be the last. You keep trying to stamp out the cinders but you just end up stoking the fire!”  
  
“Tektus simply needs more time,” Chase said resolutely. “Now keep your mouth shut or I’ll have Faraday disable you.”  
  
“You… you wouldn’t,” Nick said in disbelief, but did as he was told anyway. Feeling betrayed, yet not being surprised about her reaction in the slightest, he was locked into his room.  
  
As he heard her footsteps die away he felt the rage building inside of him. What the heck was he supposed to do now? Chase was obviously going to stick by DiMA, there was simply no way he could convince her. He had to escape… or did he?  
  
He stopped his train of thought to ponder.  
  
Did he want to save DiMA? If the synth was so determined to destroy every shred of personhood he could even begin to aspire to… did he _want_ DiMA to survive? Hesitation tore through him like fire.  
  
Maybe he would have been indifferent a week ago, but now? Now that he had _been_ DiMA, now that he had a chance to reach out to someone, _the only person in the world_ , who could possibly understand him?  
  
With a heavy pain in his gut he sat down at the edge of the bed, paralyzed by doubt.  
  
An undetermined amount of time later, though it could have been an hour, he could hear the lock on his door shifting. He got up abruptly, expecting Chase. However, it turned out to be... Faraday?  
  
The labcoated man stepped inside quickly and closed the door behind himself. He had an anxious look in his eyes, not wholly different from his usual state of being, but Nick sensed this was different.  
  
“Valentine, I heard what happened,” he said hastily though hushed. “I’ve come to get you out.”  
  
“W-what?” Nick said, those words taking him entirely by surprise. Instinctively he grabbed his hat and coat and put them back on. After a second’s thought, he also grabbed the revolver he had stashed away in the cupboard a few days prior.  
He peered into the young man’s eyes, something suddenly clicked. “You want me to save DiMA?”  
  
“Y-yes.” Faraday swallowed. Was he fighting back tears? “Please… please I don’t want him to die,” he said desperately.  
  
“DiMA is a fool,” Nick wrinkled his nose. He knew he had a responsibility to go after DiMA if he was given a chance like this, but he was still uncertain if he should be happy about it.  
  
“I-if he gets killed, the life we have built here… it will all come crumbling down,” he shook his head vigorously. “A-and my life… I...I - I...” he stuttered, starting to shake now.  
A twinge of empathy coursed through Nick, who stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder to steady him. The determination returned to Faraday’s face.  
  
“I-I have Chase distracted,” he said morosely, evidently unhappy abusing Chase’s trust. “We have to be quick.”  
  
Nick nodded curtly, following him through the hallways. A few of the synths looked up curiously, but didn’t speak up as they all trusted Faraday’s authority. The young man led Nick through a small corridor, leading to a back entrance.  
  
The detective entered into the chilly evening air. Wind rustled through the trees before it swept over him, making his coat sway gently. He breathed in deeply, trying to calm his nerves.  
  
“Hurry now,” Faraday said, trembling incessantly. “Please, before it’s too late.”  
  
Nick thanked him quietly, trying to give him a reassuring smile before he made off, opting for a more direct path down the mountain. If Chase was going to come after him, he would make it as difficult as he could, meaning taking the road less traveled.  
  
He slid down the rocks, straining his actuators every time he jumped down a small ledge or outcrop, his shoes finding purchase in the dirt and kicking up clouds of dust.  
  
He descended into the Fog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently finished writing this story, so chapters 10, 11 and 12 should follow soon. These last few chapters have been a lot of effort to write and rewrite and rewrite again. I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far. Thanks so much for reading~ <3


	10. In My Conscious Mind

He had no map this time, no handy pip-boy on which Atticus had plotted a general layout the townspeople had given them upon their first arrival.  
  
Nick thanked the old Valentine’s honed police instincts, grateful for his acute spacial awareness. It wasn’t the first time he had to rely on something like this, always making him aware of the blurry line where Valentine ended and he began.  
  
He wandered around, crisscrossing, until he finally found a path he recognized. Judging by the position of the setting sun, he followed the light, knowing it would take him west. He moved quickly though quietly, knowing he couldn’t afford a confrontation with any trappers or wildlife. Sure, he had his trusty gun by his side, and he was agile enough to slip away from any encounters, but it would chip away at the precious time he had left.  
  
The time before DiMA would do the unthinkable.  
  
If it wasn’t already too late.  
  
His coolant pump worked overtime as he dodged between the trees, opting for the direct path. Still jumping down outcrops as he snuck his way down to the lower lying areas of the island, he caught his clothes in bramble and other foliage more than once, ripping several more holes in his already tattered coat.  
  
Anxiety burned inside of him as he arrived at the south harbor. He snuck around the perimeter of the town, uncertain if any trappers had returned to the area after he and Atticus had been here last. He could see the Vim factory across the water and he hurried across the tongue of land connecting it to the mainland.   
  
The access door was still open. He tentatively pushed the heavy metal door a bit further, keeping his eyes and ears open as he made his way into the belly of the building. He and the Atticus had only cleared out this building of supermutants recently, and the corpses of said creatures infested the building now, attracting flies. Nick wrinkled his nose, trying not to focus on the horrible stench and thankful he didn’t have a stomach. He made his way downstairs, still knowing the path off by heart, staying alert for any sounds at all.   
  
But it was deathly quiet.  
  
He tiptoed down the access stairs, drawing his gun as he got closer and closer to his mark.  
  
Finally, he could hear _something_. Dragging sounds; the rattle of something being knocked over by accident.   
  
Nick made his way around the last bend, sticking his gun out in front of him. And there he saw… DiMA… closing the door to the operating theater. Through the glass window, Nick could see a figure… it was Allen Lee.  
  
The synth had his back turned, and hadn’t noticed Nick, whose coolant pump kicked up another notch, distilled panic suddenly coursing through his synthetic veins  
  
“He’s not dead,” DiMA said quietly, bowing his head. Nick jumped, almost dropping his gun, but he steadied himself.   
  
“Back against the wall, DiMA!” He growled, jerking his revolver across the room. The older synth slowly turned around to face him, then took a few steps back, his connectors bumping into the concrete wall with metallic scraping sound.  
  
“You got here faster than I thought you would.” A sad smile played around DiMA’s lips. “You’re even more determined than I believed you to be.” The admiration in his voice deeply unsettled Nick, who was trying his best not to shake in anger.  
  
Nick held the gun pointed at DiMA while his eyes surveyed Allen. The man appeared bound and blindfolded, tied to a heavy metal pipe running from the ground to the ceiling.  
  
“What did you do to him?” he said, his voice a low growl, circling DiMA like a wolf chasing its quarry.  
  
“He’s merely tied up,” DiMA said slowly, calmly, raising his hands. “There’s no need to make any hasty decisions, I-”  
  
“Hasty decisions?!” Nick yelled “So what do you call having Chase hold me down while you bolt off on a manhunt?!”  
  
“I’m sorry I had to do that, but you wouldn’t have understood...”  
  
“Why are you taking me for a ride, DiMA? Did that promise mean nothing to you?!”  
  
“I never promised anything,” he responded coolly “I said _I’d try._ ”  
  
The detective snarled indignantly; it was oh-so tempting to pull the trigger. DiMA could sense the danger, and spoke up hastily: “Look, _Allen isn’t dead_.”  
  
“But he would have been… hadn’t I made it here in time.” Nick started to tremble slightly, disgusted, distraught.  
  
“No… no,” DiMA said sadly, lowering his arms ever so slightly, his shoulders sagging. “I can’t do it. I need to, but… I remember.” he looked down at his hands, flexing the metal digits slowly.  
  
“What are you getting at?” Nick barked.  
  
“I remember, I remember what happened to Avery. I remember how I felt, Nick. Please believe me… I never killed because I _wanted to_. Only because I needed to protect those I care about… don’t you see?”  
  
Nick shook his head vigorously, refusing to concede. “It was cold, calculated murder, DiMA! Get off your goddamn high horse!”  
  
DiMA sighed, his chest heaving. “Listen, Nick. How different is it, killing to defend yourself in the moment, or killing because you know you _will_ be in danger? Avery was planning to reject both the Children of Atom _and my kind_ from this island, and would have used force if necessary. People would have died. Good people. People I… love.”  
  
That last word hung heavy in the air between them. _Love?_ How could a synth like _him_ know love? But it gave Nick pause, realizing his own fallacy. A deeply ingrained self-hatred bubbling to the surface, violent and unexpected. _How would he know love?_  
  
Nick gritted his teeth, breathing in deeply.  
“I saw your memories. I know,” he said, trying his best to control his emotions.  
  
“Then you must understand...” DiMA said, his voice somewhat hopeful. “You must have seen how Avery turned a blind eye, even _encouraged_ her people’s foul treatment of us. We didn’t have any choice, we were already deeply connected to the island by that point.”  
  
Nick was shaking properly now, feeling like the floor had dropped out from underneath him. All the doubt and apprehension raised in the last few days rushing to the forefront of his mind. What did DiMA think he was doing? These… tricks… this… manipulation. Or was it?  
  
DiMA gestured calmly. “Do you really blame me for taking precautionary measures? Do you really think I am _abhorrent_ for finding ways to preserve the peace? Prevent the most deaths?” he stepped forward slightly, but promptly stopped when Nick jerked his gun in response. “Have you not listened to my holotapes? Haven’t you heard how I proclaimed that even the mere _thought_ of using any of those methods made me sick to my stomach?”  
  
“Of course I have,” Nick said under his breath, his confidence faltering.   
  
“As a leader, I don’t always have a choice. What is right and wrong in situations like these? Allen is determined to bring Tektus down. It would destroy the Island.”  
  
“It still doesn’t make it _right_ ,” Nick breathed, but felt the doubts in his mind taking position left right and center.  
  
“No. It doesn’t.” DiMA shook his head, agreeing firmly. “I take this responsibility so that no-one else has to.”  
  
Briefly, Nick could hear Faraday’s voice in his mind, remembering what the man had said upon their first meeting. _He’s put so much of himself into this… all his time and energy, devoted to helping others. He never stops to think of himself._ Nick gnashed his teeth, still feeling DiMA was taking on a self-righteous position.  
  
“But why _you_?” Nick didn’t even know why he said those words. A moment later, he wonder what it even meant or implied. _Why_ didn’t he want DiMA to take responsibility? Was it rational or rather more... personal?  
  
“Why _me_?” DiMA cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. “I’m Acadia’s leader, the synths look to me for direction. I have taken this burden a long time ago. If not me, who?”  
  
A quiet descended on the basement, and DiMA took this opportunity to make his point clear.  
  
“I never _intended_ to hurt anyone. You might see me as a calculating… machine...” He looked away, memories of himself and N1-V4 flashing before his eyes; bright and clear like the day they happened. “And you know, perhaps I am. Perhaps I do lack your unique perspective because I was allowed to develop on my own. But...” he said importantly, raising an index finger. “That doesn’t change the fact I did not use those launch codes. Did not stop those turbines. I could have killed everyone as a solution to my problems, once and for all. But I _did not_.”  
DiMA rubbed the side of his head with spindly fingers. “Doesn’t that matter to you at all, Nick?”  
  
Nick had no idea how to respond to that. He didn’t move an inch, trepidation obvious in his features. Thoughts racing through his mind, yet paralyzed by the magnitude of this all.   
  
The old synth let out a controlled sigh. “I’m not going to kill Allen.”  


“Why spin on a dime like that?” Nick relaxed his grip on his gun a little, but didn’t lower it entirely.    
  
DiMA’s eyes shone in the gloom “I truly believed that I was going to do it, but now that I remember Avery, I can’t; not when faced with the reality.” He looked through the window at Allen “Honestly, I’m not certain what to do. But I’m confident about one thing: I don’t want to… lose  _ you _ through all this.”   
  
Nick’s gun arm had sagged so far down he relaxed, standing up a little straighter. DiMA’s last words had come unexpected.   
“...You really mean that?”   
  
“Yes,” DiMA said, a wan smile on his face. “I know we don’t see eye to eye on most matters, Nick. But I respect you more than you think. I concede that I’ve been wrong in the past, but I need you to believe that I’m different.”   
  
Nick hesitated, some of the anger still clinging on to him. “Rushing off here while keeping me restrained doesn’t exactly help your case, pal. How do you expect me to sympathize?”   
  
“I know, I know. But please consider; I have so much personal stake in Far Harbor, in Acadia... is it unthinkable that I, perhaps, reacted out of defense?”   
  
Nick grunted quietly, unable to put his conflicting thoughts in order, so he focused on the issue at hand.

“OK, but what do we do with mister blindsided in there?”    
  
DiMA wandered over tentatively, still somewhat wary of Nick. “I might have wiped all the evidence,” he said sadly. “But Allen’s clever enough to know that this place was in use recently enough, and that these kind of thing don’t happen without a reason on this Island. Not many people on this island are clever or sane enough to operate these instruments.”   
  
“And now that he’s seen Acadia’s dearest leader ambushing him, he knows for sure something fishy is going on,” Nick filled in.   
  
DiMA nodded. “I had to act quick. I didn’t have time to stop and think. It’s only a coincidence I found him just as he had found this place.”   
  
“Let’s have a little chitchat with him then,” Nick said, his voice a low rumble.   
  
“I’m not su-,” DiMA began, but promptly fell silent when Nick shouldered past him, throwing open the doors to the theater. The sound of the door banging into a misplaced gurney made Allen flinch in surprise. He had no idea what was going on, blinded, muted and unable to have heard their conversation through the thick soundproof glass.   
  
Nick approached him, lightly and easily removing the blindfold and gag.   
  
The harborman glared up at him. “You,” he growled.   
  
“Me,” Nick deadpanned, looking anything but amused. He casually reached into his pocket and lit a cigarette, blowing out the smoke against the bright florescent lights overhead, his shadow thrown across Allen’s figure.   
  
“I knew it,” Allen spat, his voice like sandpaper. “You synth scum are all the same. Especially you two fucking freaks. You don’t even  _ try _ to look human.”   
  
“I thought you would be the type to appreciate that,” Nick said casually, giving a half-hearted shrug. “No lying about what we are.”   
  
“It doesn’t matter. You fuckers have been scheming with the Children of Atom behind our back. Do you think I wouldn’t notice? Do you think I wouldn’t realize that Tektus had a convenient “change of heart” after you and that vault… whatever… came to our island?”   
  
“You seem like a perceptive fella, but let me put ya straight,” Nick said slowly, kneeling down to meet Allen at his level. “We did talk to Tektus, made him understand the consequences of his actions,” he lied.   
  
DiMA, standing behind him, folded his arms and looked on anxiously.   
  
Nick took his time, taking a long deep drag of his smoke. He knew types like Allen, and knew they were more susceptible to subtle intimidation, rather than a more direct approach. “Avery trusts us too,” Nick continued. “There is no point to what you’re doing, Allen.”   
  
“Avery is a coward!” he yelled. “I should lead this town, and maybe I will, if you cut these goddamn ropes!”   
  
“Not so fast there, Jimmy.” Nick stood back up, circling the pillar and coming to a standstill between him and DiMA. “You should look at the bigger picture. If the children of Atom fall, so will Acadia. They’re dependent on their trade to sustain themselves.”   
  
DiMA knew that Nick was exaggerating this fact, but he didn’t technically lie.   
  
“And if Acadia falls, those fog condensers that keep Far Harbor a safe little island on an island? Gone. Your precious town? Gone.” Nick made a dramatic sweeping motion with his arm, the smoke of his cigarette trailing behind.   
  
He knew he had impressed Allen, if only for a moment. His wide eyes narrowed again.   
“We’ll just force that… that… Faraway guy or whatever the hell his name is… to work for us! He’s just a synth, no-one is going to care. People already treat Brooks for what he is, why would this be any different!”   
  
From the corner of his eye, Nick could see DiMA stiffen. It wasn’t much, but his honed instincts told him his brother was  _ furious _ .   
  
“Look, all that is a moot point. The real matter is that you’re out to destroy everything your fellow people have fought to protect. The Children of Atom didn’t create the fog, they’re just drawn to it. This island is large enough for both groups to coexist, especially now that Tektus is convinced that his god is satisfied.”   
  
“And what if that  _ god _ ,” Allen said sharply “Changes his fucking mind?!”   
  
Nick looked at him with half lidded eyes, letting out a small grunt of displeasure. “When the fog retreats, which it will, you will be able to reclaim your town. But continue your bloody crusade, and the creatures hiding in the mist will encroach and turn Far Harbor into a feeding ground.”   
  
It sounded like a threat, and perhaps it was. Allen, even in his position, squared up to him. It was something in his eyes. Something mad.   
  
Nick let out an inward sigh, knowing he couldn’t possibly hope to change Allen’s mind. But perhaps there was someone who could...   
  
\---   
  
“Keep moving!”   
  
He prodded the muzzle of his gun in Allen’s back once more. The man shot daggers at him, unable to respond through the gag, his arms still tied to his back.   
  
“Yeah and you try to run I’ll pepper your legs, you got that?” Nick barked, confident in his gunmanship.    
  
DiMA was following closeby, looking around vigilantly.    
  
They had decided to bring Allen back with them for now. Nick was determined to speak with Avery, recruit her help to make Allen stand down. The older synth had his doubts, but what else could he do? What else could  _ they  _ do? They were at an impasse where they couldn’t possibly kill Allen, but letting the harborman get away could unleash a war.   
  
A few times, he considered still going through with his initial plan, anxious for the future of his people. Then again, Nick’s words echoed in his mind. This cycle of lies… it couldn’t last.   
  
Perhaps it was time to finally trust someone. A hundred years of relying on no-one but himself had worn him down. Filed him out to the point that maybe, there was a place for Nick somewhere, in that gap in his mind.   
  
“Listen, I know we can’t just waltz into town like this,” Nick craned his neck to look at him. “I need your help finding a good place where we can hole up for a while. You know this island better than I do.”   
  
DiMA nodded, pondering for a while before pointing them in a particular direction.   
  
Night slowly descended over the island, and they had to hurry to make it before darkness fell, but it was of no use. The Fog encroached on them, enveloping them like a heavy blanket. It became harder to see more than a few feet ahead. Nick was getting nervous, and his suspicions worsened when suddenly in front of him, Allen sunk knee deep into bog, almost twisting an ankle.    
  
Before Nick had a chance to realize it, he sunk into it as well, the cold irradiated water seeping into his clothes and his components. He cursed and drew back, janking Allen by his collar.   
  
DiMA had come to a halt behind them. After making sure they were ok, he said: “The fog is unusually dense tonight.”   
  
“Are you saying we’re lost?” Nick said as he recovered from the surprise.   
  
“I… no.” DiMA’s face was troubled “I’ve lived here for so long… I-”   
  
“It’s alright pal,” the detective grumbled. “I guess it can happen to anyone. Even synthetic humanoids with perfect recollection.”   
  
“We’re not lost, we-” but he was cut off by a sound. A howling bellow resounded through the fog, so low Nick could feel it reverberate through his actuators, his metal endoskeleton. Allen Lee made a panicked sound through his gag, his eyes suddenly wide as he swiveled around on the spot, trying to locate the sound.   
  
“A fog crawler,” DiMA stated rather calmly, but his eyes betrayed surprise.   
  
“Shit!” Nick cursed, revolving on the spot as well, sticking his gun out in front of him. This weapon wasn’t going to be enough to take down a heavily armored, 9-foot-tall mutated insect.   
  
“We have to move,” the older synth said quietly. He pointed towards an outcrop hugging the side of the bog. They climbed the rocks, giving them safety from the water, or so they thought.   
  
There was more swamp here. They were right in the middle of it now, with no way of turning back. The sound had been awfully close in the direction they’d come from.   
  
Nick skirted the water by staying on the stones, but they were slippery through centuries of filth and grime. At one point, it became impossible to avoid the water.   
  
“We have to go through it. If we’re fast we should be ok,” Nick muttered.   
  
“It’s too dangerous,” DiMA said, the worry now clear in his voice.   
  
“Well we have no choice!” Nick snapped, sinking himself knee deep into the water, his feet finding purchase in the sludge. DiMA reluctantly followed, keeping a hold of Allen just to make sure the man wouldn't use this opportunity to escape.   
  
The wrappings around his legs soon became heavy with water and mud. The muck got into his components as they trudged forwards, trying to make as little sound as they could.   
  
It had been a few minutes since they heard the noise, and the deathly quiet was unnerving. The fog swirled around them, rendering the edges of the bog invisible. Their only hope was just to move  _ forwards. _

But soon, Nick could see ripples in the water around his feet, ripples coming  _ towards  _ them. He stopped dead in his tracks. Faint splashing sounds in the distance marked the movement of something  _ big _ .

Nick crouched down, his coat soaking up the water as he tried to make himself as small as possible. DiMA followed suit, hand still clasped around Allen’s upper arm. The harborman’s eyes were huge with fear; the self confident act really melted once you took away a man’s weapon and mobility.

Nick watched as the ripples in the water shifted, moving around them. Was it passing by? He subconsciously held his breath.   
  
The silence, the cold, the swirling mist… they were the only things making up his reality until suddenly, a silhouette broke through, sharp and vivid against the fog. A thunderous bellow shook the ground as the monster bounded forward, water sloshing over them in waves. Without thinking and relying entirely on instinct, Nick got up and bolted away.   
  
“RUN!” he shouted, unable to check if DiMA and Allen had heard him.    
  
The fog crawler, fast though big and clumsy, skidded to a halt where Nick had only just been kneeling. It reared up its great ugly head before taking a slow turn into his direction.   
  
It was hard to run while wading through the water and muck, and Nick was struggling with his waterlogged clothes, despite the synth’s superior strength. He was panting, a backup measure to remove more heat from his strained components. He ran and ran, trying desperately to find the shore.   
  
The creature chittered and growled as it splashed through the water. It’s great scythes slashed at him as it got nearer. Nick took a sharp turn, avoiding it only because he was more agile. The stray rocks underfoot almost tripped him up as he pelted out of the water and onto dry land. It took him a few seconds to realize the creature wasn’t following him anymore.   
  
Disoriented, he whirled around, eyes anxiously scanning his surroundings. But the fog was too thick.    
  
He could  _ hear _ the creature, but the sounds were fainter now. There was a shout, but it was impossible to know who they belonged to. Unable to just  _ stand by _ , Nick approached the noise carefully, coolant pump working overtime on his overheating actuators.   
  
If he could sneak up on it… perhaps…   
  
But in the back of his mind he knew his revolver simply  _ wasn’t going to be enough _ .   
  
He spotted the silhouette of the creature ahead, just as it reared up against two figures shrouded in the mist. Nick didn’t think before he took aim and shot. The gunpowder explosion was deafening, reverberating across the desolate bog. The fog crawler screeched, flailing. Through some incredible stroke of luck, the bullet had hit  _ something  _ and it had hurt. The creature rounded on him again. This was it, Nick thought, he was going to die. There was no way his gun had enough power to kill the creature, let alone have enough lead to even try.   
  
He had survived impossible odds before. Mostly against deathclaws. But then he was usually accompanied by someone else, with bigger guns and  _ not  _ loaded down by water and surrounded by mist that these creatures comfortably called home.   
  
Survival instinct filled his every synthetic nerve as the creature got closer, enraged, bleeding. He could try and run for it again, but he had a feeling fog crawlers were smart enough to hold a grudge. He stood his ground and emptied his revolver, aiming at the critter’s legs, hoping to incapacitate it. Bullet after bullet pinged off the creature’s armor. One or two pierced through, making the creature stumble and screech momentarily before recovering. It was of no use.   
  
But then suddenly, Nick could see strange yellow lights illuminating the fog, flaring… and they were  _ moving _ .   
  
It took him a moment to realize what these were: Anglers.    
  
He was about to make a run for it, until he realized these critters weren’t after  _ him _ , but the fog crawler. A huge angler, presumably the alpha, pounced right on top of the crawler’s injured plating, teeth sinking into the exposed flesh. The creature screamed, flailing and thrashing in the water, bucking to get the predator of its back. But soon more followed, climbing on top their downed prey and eating it alive.    
  
Nick watched in horror as the crawler’s legs were torn off one by one in a matter of seconds. But he looked away, this was an opportunity to escape. He turned his attention back to the figures he assumed were Allen and DiMA, before he just saw a glimpse of somebody slipping away in the distance, beyond the wall of fog.    
  
Nick cursed under his breath, following quickly and trying his best not to disturb the Anglers at their feast.    
  
He sloshed through the water, anxiety filling him as he found the shore, the point where the silhouette had vanished. He turned his attention to the ground. The synth footprints there were unmistakable, having seen it often enough from his own damaged foot. He hurried forward, before hearing a noise in the distance.   
  
He sprinted now, fog swirling around him angrily, upset at the intrusion.    
  
And there he saw…   
  
DiMA struggling on the ground with Allen on top of him. The harborman had a vicious snarl on his face, blood pouring down his forehead and dripping down onto the synth. He was holding a knife and drove it deep into DiMA’s throat just as Nick skidded to a halt.    
  
The sound of shattering glass filled the air as the old synth’s vacuum tubes smashed into the rocks. A metallic whine emanating from the metal parts scraping past stone.   
  
Nick felt ice cold coursing through his veins. Automatically and running on nothing but raw, distilled instinct, his mind went blank.    
  
He lifted up his gun arm and took the shot.    
  
With that bang, reality snapped back to normal. Viscerally real. Blood painted the ground as Allen slumped sideways off DiMA. The man gargled through viscous fluid for a moment, twitching. Then finally, he lay still.   
  
Nick felt numb as he rushed forward, knees thudding in the dirt as he landed down next to DiMA. His hands found his shoulders, shaking him as he watched coolant flow freely from the synth’s ruptured artery. With an unexpected pain coursing through his chest, Nick pulled away the knife and threw it aside, fingers groping around to inspect the damage. He trembled, his hand quickly soaked in the oily liquid. He closed a fist around the wound, holding it tight.   


DiMA took a rasping breath before his eyelids fluttered open. His hand came up to Nick’s wrist, cool metal fingers on synthetic skin; he let out a strangled grunt.    
  
“Nick… I...” his voice had a buzz to it that hadn’t been there before. Nick guessed the knife must have scraped past DiMA’s artificial vocal chords.   
  
“Quiet now… you’ll be ok,” Nick said, though he wasn’t sure  _ who _ he was reassuring.   


DiMA’s turned his head towards Allen’s limp body, the broken bulbs on the back of his head stirred the glass, tinkling across the ground.

He whimpered in desperation upon realizing the harborman was dead. “No...” his voice cracked.    
  
“I  _ had _ to do it,” Nick gritted his teeth. The numbness fuzzing up his perceptions. He squinted, bowing his head.   
  
“It’s… I...” DiMA tried, but he sounded as lost as Nick felt.   
  
“He would have killed you. Done irreversible damage,” Nick whispered, mostly to himself. “I had to do it.”   
  
His chest heaved with distress. DiMA briefly observed him with his calm gaze before reaching up with his other hand, placing his palm firmly against Nick’s collarbone. “...you.. Saved me.”   
  
Nick felt as if the world had crashed down around him. Startled, he let go and fell back, feet pushing away, swearing to himself.    
  
DiMA gasped as the coolant leak opened up again. Now once more conscious, he fumbled with his own hand, finding the hole. He got up onto his knees, coughing. The liquid had flooded his mouth, seeping down his chin and onto the ground as he spluttered. The acrid taste lingering on his tongue.   
  
“I’m going to need some duct tape,” DiMA grunted. He felt fuzzy, the first signs of his processors overheating.   
  
Nick shook himself, slowly getting up to his feet. “I’m sorry... I just… I don’t know what came over me.” A survival instinct that had kept him alive and functioning for over a century came back sharply, overriding his personal disquiet.    
  
Practicality won over from morality as he searched Allen’s body for materials he could use. There wasn’t any tape, but he ended up using the knife to slice off a strip of rubber from one of Allen’s boots. Combined with a small strip of fabric to tie it into place, it functioned as a makeshift bandage.    
  
Nick’s fingers trembled only slightly as they wrapped the torn cabling, making sure to avoid brushing the frayed skin. Although DiMA didn’t show it, Nick knew that must have hurt. The edges of the paneling had probably had their sensors removed a long time ago, but those in the unbroken skin were still very much intact.    
  
He leaned back when he completed the job, trying to wipe the purple coolant off his hands, but only ended up smearing his coat.   
  
“How did Allen overpower you?” He narrowed his eyes at DiMA, as the older synth slowly sat up, clasping one hand to his forehead.   
  
“He just… took me by surprise. It all happened in a split second.” DiMA looked up, his eyes sorrowful. “You made it just in time. Had that knife gone any deeper...”   
  
Nick tried not to think about how fragile synths could potentially be. After a hundred years in the wasteland, it was all too easy to forget neither of them was immortal.

“Crafty little rat, wasn’t he?” Nick derided. “Managing to free himself that easily.” He peered at their surroundings, seeing the silhouettes of a small boat and a couple of skeletons. Allen had probably found the knife there.   
  
DiMA coughed again, more coolant splattering the ground, mixing with Allen’s blood on his face, until it became a grey amalgamation. He looked like a mess.    
His fingers tentatively touched the broken tubes on the back of his head. Momentarily, Nick has the impulse to warn DiMA not to cut himself; living with flesh and blood humans for all your life would do that to you.   
  
“Are you ok?” Nick said carefully, getting to his feet, keeping a watch on their surroundings.   
  
“I’ll… survive,” DiMA replied, his voice buzzing once more. He coughed again, but this time it was a metallic whine. “I won’t be aaable to connect to my database like thhhis, but the damage can be repaired.”    
  
Nick winced slightly in response to the distortion. DiMA got up too, steadying himself, but his eyes betrayed pain.   
  
Both of them looked at Allen’s lifeless form, the consequences of this incident becoming apparent to them.    
  
“We have to take him back to Far Harbor,” Nick sighed.   
  
DiMA nodded, but the unspoken question hung between them, as the detective continued: “We just have to hope that, with Avery’s help, the townspeople will believe our version of events.”   
  
He walked forwards, meaning to pick up Allen’s body. Even after a long time of dealing with death and destruction, handling the dead never became easier.   
His brother stopped him. “Please, let me.” He scoped up Allen before Nick could protest. The broken tubes at his back fizzled.   
  
“DiMA, are you fit to do this?” he said, worried once more.   
  
“We have to get out of here as quickly as we can,” DiMA stated, his voice momentarily returning to normal. “The consequences of this will not go unnoticed if we don’t deal with them now. Besides...” He looked sharply in his direction. “You’re better with a gun. I need you to keep an eye out. We’re not far from the town now, but there is little chance we’d survive another encounter.”   
  
Nick nodded after a moment’s hesitation.   
  
As they went on their way, Nick remained vigilant. But once in awhile his gaze drifted towards DiMA, seeing the pained expression in his eyes whenever he had to hoist the harborman’s body further up his arms.   
  
Night had well and truly arrived now, but the fog had lifted somewhat, and DiMA was confident of their direction.    


An old decrepit shack near the town’s old borders was their stop. Nick made his way into town alone, seeking out Avery, finding a way to get her to follow him. Meanwhile, DiMA found a puddle of water and tried to get most of the blood and coolant off his face. He peered in the reflection by lantern light, hardly shocked by what he saw. He let his fingers trace past the torn skin, hot burning pain coursing through him, making him flinch.   
  
Even after all these modifications he had made to himself, he had never quite given up all his receptors. Sure, it would be better, make more  _ sense _ . But was that really a life he wanted to live? A life without even the slightest of somatic pleasures?

He withdrew and waited.   
  
An hour later, Nick returned. The expression on Avery’s face told DiMA she already knew, but her composure seemed… strangely calm.   
  
Nick tried to follow her into the shack, but DiMA stood up, approaching him. “I think me and Avery need to talk, alone.” He said slowly. “We have a lot to discuss.”   
  
Many different objections lined up in the detective’s head, and he opened his mouth to resist, but then slowly closed it. He peered deeply into his brother’s eyes, pondering if he could trust him. Alone, with Avery, in an abandoned shack.   
  
They stood there for what felt like ages, the tension palpable.   
  
Then slowly, very slowly, Nick nodded.    
  
He waited outside, sat on a mouldy old barrel. He lit a cigarette and looked up as a soft patter of rain started, the wind suddenly icy against his skin. He thought about the conversation they’d had back underneath the Vim factory.   
  
DiMA had been right.   
  
He could have killed everyone on the Island, all those years ago. It would have “fixed” all his problems. It would have guaranteed Acadia’s survival. They didn’t truly need Far Harbor or the Children, as much as Chase claimed they did.   
  
And yet… and yet… DiMA had left them alive. Had left a collection of memories describing how sickening these concepts were. How appalling.   
  
How different it was from killing “just” one woman, wiping “just” two synths.   
  
DiMA’s objective had never been to  _ control _ .   
  
And here he was, Nick, pulling a bullet through Allen’s gullet like it was nothing; pretending it wasn’t murder. And why? Out of some notion of self defense? Defending  _ DiMA? _ _  
_ _  
_ Objectively speaking, who had  _ more  _ deserved to die? Allen killed that preacher, all those years ago. Where had Far Harbor’s swift justice been, then?   
  
Nick sucked on his cigarette, his mind overloading with conflicting thoughts. After a century of having these morals… these… rules to live by… this… sense of justice. It had been his rock, through all sorts of difficult times.   


But DiMA had been the ice, seeping through the cracks as water, straining and eventually breaking the stone once it had gotten too cold.   
  
And now Nick was left struggling for survival in the bitter light of day.    
  
\--

When the shack door finally opened, Avery emerged. Nick got up promptly, turning to her expectantly. But she merely gave him a curt nod, her eyes oddly shiny in the lantern light, and turned around to make her way down the path.   
  
Worried, the synth made his way into the shack, finding DiMA sitting in one of the old, rotten chairs.   
  
Languidly, his older brother looked up at him, then gave him the faintest of smiles.   
  
“She… she understood.”   
  
“It’s been, I don’t know,  _ hours, _ ” Nick gestured. “What been going on.”  
  
DiMA got up, palms on the table, a quiet groan filling the small space before he spoke. “I told her the truth. I told her Allen was finding a way to provoke a conflict. That he died in the struggle when we tried to stop him. Avery understands the need for peace as much as I do; she was willing to listen.” He straightened his back, circling the table.   
  
“It took a while to convince her, but ultimately… the reality is that Allen’s unfortunate death serves us both. Avery rightfully suspected that Allen was trying to usurp her. The last thing Far Harbor needs after this long period of struggle, is war. She knows this too.”   
  
Sure it sounded like the truth, Nick thought, but it wasn’t the whole story. “What about telling her she’s a synth?” Nick said, folding his arms. His voice, this time, lacking immediate judgment.    
  
DiMA looked at him blearily, the energy drained from his features. “I never programmed her to be too different from the original Avery. I wanted to… I needed to… preserve who she was.”   
There was something in his eyes; it didn’t take an expert to understand this was guilt. “It means if she finds out now, she will judge me harshly for it. The only punishment is death.”   
  
“And you... you just don’t deserve to die.” Nick said quietly. It wasn’t a statement, but rather a concealed question.    
  
“I-,” DiMA said, standing up straight. Nick’s gaze once more drifted over the broken components, the frayed skin. “I think I do.” He shook his head “But… what would it achieve. Just more death. Just more friction between Far Harbor and the Children. The sacrifices I’ve made would have been for naught.”   
  
Nick sighed, those words not what he expected, but the remorse in DiMA’s voice was enough to understand. They needed time to think about all this. “What’s done is done. Let’s… let’s head back to Acadia. We need Faraday to take a look at you.”   
  
“Just one more thing.”   
  
Outside, DiMA looked at the sad form of Allen, picking him up. He walked onto the path, keeping an eye out. Nick followed him cautiously. It took a good ten minutes of wandering around before DiMA found what he was looking for. A perfect spot, secluded yet graced by the presence of wildflowers.    
  
Nick stood by and watched as DiMA dug a grave by the glow of blight, the bioluminescent fungus common on his part of the island. He lit a cigarette, not offering his assistance and simply letting his brother do what he had to do. This was part of the process.   
  
Nick idly wondered why Avery hadn’t wanted to take care of Allen’s remains. He figured that she knew it would be a poor decision to show the man’s remains to the townsfolk. If Allen had truly been this close to inciting a riot, this would be the ticket. No, better to let it be a mysterious death, away from town; allow Avery time to regain control.   
  
When DiMA placed Allen’s body in the hole, he looked at the still form sadly for a few moments, before beginning the arduous task of burying him. The process took so long that by the time he finished, the slightest hint of sunrise could be seen over the horizon.   
  
Nick’s metal fingers traced the lines in the bark of a nearby tree when DiMA finally stood back, having smoothed the sand in place.   
  
Another few moments of quiet later, DiMA awkwardly plucked a flower of a nearby shrub, a pretty purple thing perhaps related to the hubflower, and placed it on top of the unceremonious grave. Nick knew Allen didn’t deserve anything like this, not really. The man had been vicious, close minded, and murderous. No better than a trapper.   
  
And yet… DiMA was determined to show him this much respect at least. Perhaps a way to atone for Avery. The guilt retroactively seeping into him, spilling out across his actions. Consuming him.   
  
“Let’s… let’s go,” the old synth said softly, avoiding Nick’s eyes as he made his way up the path, following the winding curves of Cadillac mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew this was my biggest chapter yet, and also the most difficult to write. There were a lot of plot holes to fill in, and I think I got pretty close to it, but there's probably always going to be something I overlooked. Posting this chapter coincides with me figuring out DiMA/Far Harbor's canon timeline once and for all (http://mothtrap.tumblr.com/post/150163932153/dimafar-harbor-timeline-v2). This means HHU is somewhat canon divergent, but I'm going to leave it as it is, as it would take too much time to overhaul some of the details. See this as a slight AU ;) Any of my future fics will probably adhere better to the canon timeline.


	11. History Hexes Us

Nick spent the entire next day pacing around Acadia, trying his best to find something to do, lest his idle mind dwell on what had happened in the last few days.   
  
DiMA was with Faraday now, being repaired.    
  
Immediately upon their return, the poor young synth had broken down into sobs, bawling his eyes out at the mere sight of seeing DiMA alive.   
The synth leader had come up to him gently, trying to take him into an embrace. But Faraday had snapped at him, telling him how foolish he had been, how selfish to put Acadia at risk, how utterly in disregard of  _ his  _ feelings.   
  
Nothing had quite calmed Faraday down, but at least the young man was determined to repair the damage DiMA had sustained, whisking him away into a workshop, muttering angrily to himself, the tears still fresh on his cheeks.   
  
Though not before the older synth had made Chase stand down. She had come into Acadia’s main hub upon hearing Faraday’s cries, threatening Nick, thinking something had gone wrong.   
  
She eventually relented, but not without much bitterness towards the detective. She avoided him for the rest of the day. Nick sympathized with her, despite how she had held him captive. Had he been in her position, he had probably done the same. Had he been a lost synth finding shelter, a  _ home _ in Acadia and all thanks to DiMA, he would have done the same. He might not agree with any of their actions, but he understood.   
  
Nick, unable to find anything to occupy himself, once more sat down on Acadia’s flat roof, peering out over the slow sunrise.   
  
He smoked nearly an entire pack of cigarettes, pondering the same questions over and over.   
  
Had he done the right thing?   
  
If justice was to be had, DiMA should be dead. It was something he wouldn’t have questioned even for a second a mere two weeks ago.   
  
But now? After all that had happened? After all that hinged on preserving DiMA’s secret?   
  
The Children and Far Harbor couldn’t be trusted not to start a war if the truth came to light. And that would hurt so many people, so many synths.    
  
Nick peered over the railing, at the synths working just below in the courtyard. They didn’t deserve any of this. The only thing they needed after a life of feeling misplaced and judged for what they are…. Is a place to call their own.   
  
DiMA hadn’t killed for enjoyment, but for peace. It was wrong, it was a flawed argument that could never be justified… 

...but it could be forgiven.   
  
And that was an idea Nick never thought he’d accept. And yet here he was. The Island would have been in ruin, if it hadn’t been for DiMA.   
  
\---   
  
“I’m glad you’re still here.” DiMA’s voice was even quieter than usual. Subdued, humble. With his usual charisma having taken a hit, he looked much smaller and more insecure than Nick remembered him.   
  
He felt sorry for him. Felt empathy towards his brother. Toward the person who had saved him; built Acadia solely because he never wanted what happened to Nick, to happen to anyone else ever again.   
  
And he had failed in that endeavour. And he knew it.   
  
However, it wasn’t too late to change things.   
  
“I won’t just… leave. Not like this,” Nick responded in kind.   
  
“I wouldn’t blame you. I know a lot of what happened goes directly against your way of thinking. I just hope that you believe me when I say I’m… I’m sorry.” DiMA looked at the ground, pain etched sharply in his eyes, like a speck of sunlight amidst a sea of ice.   
  
Nick had to try his best not to fiddle with his hands or sleeves; not give away how nervous he felt.   
  
“I know I might have deceived you before,” DiMA looked up. “But this time I really mean it when I say I… promise. I promise I won’t fall back on taking anyone’s life, ever again.”   
  
“That’s real good to hear,” Nick said reassuringly, picking up on all the cues that regret had consumed DiMA to the point it crippled him.   
  
They walked out into the forest, the synth leader taking Nick to a place he knew. A rocky ledge, a steep drop, a magnificent sight.   
  
The detective stuck his hands in his pockets as he watched DiMA sit down and folds his legs. The metal frames carefully arranged, his posture had a certain poise he’d never thought possible with someone like him. New vacuum tubes now adorned his head. His voice was no longer distorted. Faraday’s gentle hand had mended him, but it would be a long time before the invisible wounds had healed.   
  
It was midday but the fog coiled below like a heavy blanket, flowing between the trees like a river. The tops of the pines stuck out like pylons, safe havens to the birds that still called this island home.   
  
“Do you think the fog will get even worse?” Nick pondered morosely. “Drive the people of Far Harbor off this island forever?”   
  
“I don’t know,” DiMA admitted. “This place, it’s been my home for so long. I’ve seen the fog come and go, but it’s never been quite this bad. I wasn’t around in Far Harbor at the time, didn’t see how the humans reacted to this sudden change. Three generations have passed since, and every new one has to learn for itself.”   
  
Nick tentatively sat down a few feet to the left of him, legs swung over the side of the outcrop. “People forget.”   
  
DiMA nodded. His eyes, unspoken, said:  _ But I don’’t.  _ __  
__  
For a split second, he really did look like  _ the old synth on the mountain _ . An ancient monolith, weathered by all the hardships in life, yet still enduring.   
Then, he was back to being DiMA, the anxious shell of a man he had never been. Not like Nick; no history, no compass, no purpose.   
  
Nick closed his eyes, letting the birdsong fill his ears, absorbing the gentle warmth of a pale autumn sun.   
  
He could feel his coolant pump’s rhythmical tempo, the slight buzz of fans whirring, reverberating in his throat.   
  
It was strange how back in the Commonwealth, after years of being called out on being what he was, he had never given his own personhood a second thought. Though filled with apprehension about his own humanity, he had never questioned that, deep down, he was at least a  _ person _ .    
  
Here, next to someone who immediately accepted he was a synth, he was uncomfortably reminded of their physical existence.   
  
Next to DiMA… were there really more than machines? Machines made to think they were alive?  _ Taking  _ the lives of those who threatened them?    
  
What is the soul of a man?   
  
Nick opened his eyes, turning to see DiMA peering at him, quietly observing him.   
  
“Nick. Can I ask you a question?”   
  
“Of course.” Nick shifted uncomfortably, left hand absentmindedly rolling up one of the loose straps of his coat’s belt.   
  
“Would you… would have have shot me? Back there, in the factory?” His voice was carefully neutral, but the emotional intent was impossible to miss. A tense, pregnant silence followed.   
  
“I...” Nick said slowly, trying to look anywhere but directly at his brother. “No offence, but… I think I could have. But I listened to your arguments and they made sense so hey… water under the bridge,” he said airily.   
  
But DiMA was not about to drop it that easily. “What would you have done, if you had? Would you have gone back to Acadia? Told everyone of my fate?”   
  
“I can’t answer those questions.” Nick wrinkled his nose, pulling his hat deeper over his eyes.   
  
DiMA breathed out slowly, watching the scene below. How peaceful the island looked from up here. How clean the world seemed, from so far away. And they, the synths, the intruders in this natural world: a rogue side-effect of humanity’s lust for control. A memory flashed unbidden in Nick’s mind; DiMA in the cave. Alone, lost… innocent.   
  
He wasn’t human, and he would never be.   
  
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t alive. He had made it this far, further than any synth had ever gone. He had accomplished more than the Institute could have ever thought him capable of. All because of  _ compassion _ .   
  
Nick clenched his jaw, so tired of the struggle in his head. So exhausted after grappling with judgment in such a personal, unforgiving way.   
  
“I didn’t want you to die, that’s why I listened.”   
  
There was sorrow in DiMA’s posture. They maintained eye contact for a few moments, and something in Nick… clicked.   
  
Despite all of his brother’s obvious flaws, despite all of his shortcomings due to a lack of humanity. He, DiMA, had a kind of _ freedom _ Nick could never hope to attain.   
  
Inside this prison cage that was  _ Nick Valentine,  _ all that Nick could do was rattle the bars; scream at his own disillusions through a tinted worldview. Good and evil were human constructs, and so were justice and morality. Without them, where would he be?   
  
But he couldn’t deny that it imposed on him a set of rules that DiMA was never forced to follow.   
  
And yet he did, in his own way. He felt regret, in his own way. Because he  _ choose  _ to. Nick never had that choice.   
  
_ History hexes us _ , Nick thought, remembering an old world poem from one of his many books back in Diamond City. I’m subservient to who I am, but DiMA was a blank slate. He consciously chose to become what he is. And what he is… is essentially…   
  
Good.   
  
“You don’t deserve to die,” Nick added.   
  
This elicited surprise. DiMA turned towards him, placing one metal clawed hand between them on the cold stone. Those icy eyes bore into Nick’s soul like nothing had ever done before, probing, looking for signs of trickery.   
  
“The island probably would have been better off if I had encouraged the Children to leave. In my stubbornness to have them stay, I created this problem. Martin would have listened to me, eventually.”   
  
“I think you’re overestimating your own influence,” Nick smiled sadly. “Humans are headstrong creatures. It doesn’t matter what you said or did.”   
  
“Perhaps.“ DiMA sat back again, not entirely convinced.    
  
“Look, all that matters is… Acadia needs you. They would probably survive without you, sure, but this is your chance to make up for what you’ve done. The Institute is gone now. A lot of synths are going to need a new home.”   
  
“And you trust me? You want to place the fate of an entire race of people in my hands?”   
  
Nick had never seen DiMA this insecure. In the last two weeks that they had come to know each other, Nick had learned that the old synth always seemed to have an answer to  _ everything _ , felt confident in  __ anything .  
  
This was a side of him he had never expected to see, and it startled him.   
Apparently his words had really gotten through to him; his conviction that what he had done could never be rectified.    
  
“If you excuse the crude expression: I think you’ve learned a lesson.” He tilted his head up, watching the clouds drift by lazily. “If you hadn’t, Allen would have been dead at your hands. But you were right, you didn’t kill him when you had the chance.”   
  
DiMA remained quiet, thoughtful, mulling over the questions at hand. “The synths are my family,” he said quietly. “Ever since I lost you, on that fateful day a hundred years ago… I’ve been trying to regain what I lost. I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you were dead.”   
  
Something inside Nick twinged. Something warm. It almost burned, making him squirm in discomfort. But there was also an elated feeling the likes he had never felt before   
  
“You’d do anything to protect family, wouldn’t you?” Nick said softly, his voice deep.   
  
DiMA lidded his eyes and hummed in agreement.   
  
They sat in silence. Two brothers, the warmth of the sun slowly melting the tension between them. Perhaps this was it, Nick thought. The sensation of familiarity made him gingerly explorer a feeling he had been hesitant to touch upon before. A feeling clouded by anger, frustration and even hatred.   
  
Innately stubborn, it was only now that those emotions got replaced by something like fondness.   
  
He had found DiMA. He had found a small piece of his own history. Something to call his own.


	12. I Breathe Again

“So this is it, then,” Atticus said, giving Nick an amicable slap on the shoulder. Nick grunted, but smiled all the same.    
  
They were standing in Acadia’s courtyard, a few curious synths looking at them from a distance. The vault dweller had returned recently, with good news. His “quest” had been successful, and the chances of things mucking up now were low enough that the factions on the Island could handle it from here.   
  
Nick had remained in Acadia for several days while waiting for Atticus’ return, mostly keeping to himself. The last few weeks had been extremely emotionally taxing, and now that his relationship with DiMA seemed mended, he had avoided him in the fear of snapping back to old habits.   
  
However, he had found that his thoughts hadn’t changed. Even after extended periods of running diagnostics and putting his thoughts in order, he knew he had finally settled how he thought about his brother.   
  
The bottom line was that he trusted DiMA to, from now on, make the right call.   
  
Besides, he couldn’t begin to think what he would do if DiMA was gone. Finding a piece of yourself you thought you never had, only to have it ripped away again… no... he wasn’t sure he could handle that.   
  
“Are you sure you’re ready to return to the Commonwealth with me?” Atticus cocked his head, noticing that Nick was lost in thought.    
  
The synth shook himself, groping around in his pockets for a cigarette but finding only lint.    
  
“Yeah, I am. After I buy some more cigs tho,” he grinned, playing off his friend’s concern. There would be plenty of time to discuss all of this later. They had a boring day-long journey to look forward, after all.    
  
As they entered Acadia to visit Cog and his supplies, Atticus said: “Do you think you’ll ever come back here?”   
  
“I don’t know. Unless a case brings me here, I don’t have much reason to,” Nick shrugged, giving his friend a sideways glance.   
  
“Isn’t DiMA reason enough?”   
  
Nick had to remember who these words were coming from. Atticus knew all too well the importance of keeping family close. He had lost everyone in the great war. No more time to reconcile broken ties, no more time to take back ugly words or wipe away the dirt. Nick had seen first hand how it had affected his friend, and how it had kept him going during the darkest hours. Atticus now knew where to place his importance. A lesson learned the hard way, and something Nick should pay attention to.   
  
The human Nick Valentine had never had a brother. So this was something new, something of  _ his _ .    
  
“Yeah, you’re right. I might return every once in awhile. See how the old synth is doing.” His expression was one of calm melancholy, a kind of pre-emptive nostalgia.    
  
Nick proceeded to buy as many packs of cigarettes as Cog was willing to sell, and hummed happily as he stuck one between his lips, oral fixation momentarily satisfied. Cog gave him warning glances not to smoke inside, so Nick shrugged making his way back upstairs with his friend, absentmindedly chewing on the filter.   
  
Back in the hub, DiMA was hooked up to his usual machinery. Nick coughed to catch his attention, after which the synth’s eyelids slowly opened. The chair pushed him into an upright position, but his posture still had something that made him look tired.   
  
“Nick,” he said with his usual, understated voice. He was standing on the platform again, looking down on them. After a moment’s hesitation he walked down to face them, bringing himself level to them.    
  
The blue glow of the data banks shone off his new tubes like crystalline ice. Everything about him seemed a bit tidier, a bit cleaner. If that was at all possible through the mess of cables, wires and mechanisms that made up his being.   
  
“DiMA,” Nick smiled. The pause that hung between them said more than he was ever able to express. They both knew everything had changed in the last few days.   
  
“Leaving so soon,” DiMA quipped, bowing his head.   
  
“Yeah, it’s only been a few weeks,” Nick retorted with a chuckle.   
  
They fell silent once more. Nick was grateful that Atticus was hanging back, simply letting them have a moment.   
  
“I… I do hope everything goes well for Acadia. This place might not be my home, but I hope it will be for a lot of synths.”   
  
“I know you don’t agree with my… philosophy,” DiMA raised his eyebrows. “About how synths here don’t need to hide from what they are.”   
  
Nick thought about a previous conversation they’d had, and how defensive he had been to the notion of a special place for synths serving an important purpose. He knew now he was speaking from a position of privilege. He had it good, back in Diamond City. By far most synths were in danger out there. Trying to survive while many different factions, people and creatures wanted them dead.   
  
“No I… I think I’ve come around on that one,” Nick said slowly. “As long as you make the synths here understand there is more to the world, I think Acadia will be a good place to call home.”   
  
“I am glad to hear you say that,” the first genuine smile in a long time appeared on the older synth’s face. It once again made Nick’s insides twinge with a strange kind of joy. There was an expression on DiMA’s face that seemed to say  _ I’ll make you proud of me, I promise _ .    
  
Nick closed his eyes and smiled.   
  
And as he reopened them, he suddenly found DiMA a lot closer. He almost stumbled backwards in surprise as DiMA’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him in for a hug. Nick momentarily panicked, feeling his coolant pump kick up into another gear, but then tentatively gave in.   
  
What only lasted for a few seconds had felt like ages. And when they let go, the sensation of warm and cold metal, skin, plastic and random bits poking into him stood out in Nick’s memory.   
  
Slightly dazed, he looked into his brother’s eyes, and what he saw reflected there would stay with him for a long time: affection.   
  
DiMA uttered his thanks. It was hard, at this point, to see him as an older brother. The deep-seated insecurity he had shown reminded Nick more of a young and lost child, in need of guidance, in need of a big brother to look out for him.   
  
And yet, Nick knew that DiMA could handle things. He had to trust him, from now on, no matter how difficult. Truly believe that his brother would make the right decisions.   
  
It wasn’t long after that, that their departure became a reality. Nick tore his gaze away from the hulking dome of the observatory, as he followed Atticus down the path, into the shadows of the trees.   
  
He found himself looking back more than once, indeed wondering if he’d ever see this place again.   
  
But even if he didn’t, he knew he’d left in peace. And that was all he could ask for.   
  
Even hours later, bored out of his skull on the boat back to the Commonwealth, Atticus found it hard to engage him. He was so occupied with his memories he just stared at the horizon line, the endless Atlantic ocean. A vast expanse of water that seemed impassible these days. Who knew what lay beyond in this war-ravaged world.   
  
But Nick’s heart was back in the Commonwealth. Atticus knew this too, and that’s why the vault dweller hadn’t tried to make him stay.   
  
Nick felt a duty to the people, some of whom had shunned him all his life. And yet, he chose them over Acadia. He was happiest doing what he loved: helping those in need. There simply wasn’t much of a demand for his kind of occupation in Far Harbor.   
  
Besides, one grew attached to a city, to a place. No matter how run down, how dilapidated, how ridden with monsters and raiders and vermin... The Commonwealth was home.  _ His  _ home. He couldn’t let that go.   
  
\---   
  
Arriving back at the Nakano’s seaside cottage, Nick and Atticus disembarked. Kasumi had already made it home several weeks prior. After they’d convinced her that the troubles on Far Harbor were resolved, she had packed the little stuff she owned, and had gone back on the boat she had taken from her parents previously.   
  
She had refused to let Atticus and Nick accompany her, even though it had been their duty to bring her home. They still had things to resolve on the island, and Kasumi knew this. At least her boat ride had been direct, far away from any immediate danger. She had made it up to Far Harbor on her own, too. She was clever enough to find her way back.   
  
Unsurprisingly, the Nakano’s were grateful, eternally happy that their beloved daughter had returned. She was tinkering in the shed right that moment, but Kenji expressed his worry that Nick and Atticus wouldn’t return.   
  
“It has been a while,” he said. “I believed you would follow soon, but when you didn’t… well, we’re glad you’re back, anyway.”   
  
He had tried giving them caps, but Atticus politely refused. Then Kenji offered some of his father’s old belongings, but Atticus once again shook his head.   
  
“It’s alright mister Nakano. We’re just glad Kasumi is safe.” He exchanged glances with Nick, who gave him a faint smile.   
  
\---   
  
After a long trek back to Diamond City, Nick gingerly pushed open the door to his agency. Atticus had left him to peddle some of the stuff he had collected on the island. He hadn’t said it, but implied he wanted to give Nick some time alone with Ellie.   
  
It felt strange being back. He had never been this far away from home in all his life as a synth. Even when he had been cooped up in vault 114 for a fortnight, it hadn’t felt quite like this upon his return. Everything hit him at once, things that he never normally noticed yet were intimately familiar. The mixture of smells coming from the market; food, hot metal, rust. The sounds of a busy town, people making a living for themselves in a world gone astray. What a contrast it was to the island’s deadly quiet.   
  
The creak of his own front door kicked his coolant pump up a notch, the somewhat musty smell hitting him. It smelled of home. Of history.   
  
And there she was, Ellie. One of his oldest friends, or at least, one who had stuck around the longest. Too stubborn to let go.   
  
She immediately jumped up from her chair, fighting not to break out into happy sobs as she flung herself around Nick’s neck. He laughed heartily as he held her close, a strange kind of lighthearted giddiness taking over his mind and body.   
  
When she let go, she rubbed the corners of her eyes.    
  
“Nick! You’re… you’re finally home. This took so much longer than expected.”   
  
“Ellie...” Nick said warmly. “I know, it’s hard to send word when you’re so far away. I’m sorry if I worried you. I promise I have a good reason.”   
  
“You always have a good reason,” Ellie said, her bottom lip only trembling ever so slightly, overwhelmed by feelings of relief.   
  
“Please, take a seat. I’ll tell you what happened.” Nick said calmly, feeling a twinge of fatherly compassion upon seeing her starting to shake. She did so, perched at the edge of “his” chair, Nick taking a seat in the upholstered one normally reserved for clients.   
  
He began slowly, describing every event leading up to them arriving at Far Harbor in great detail. Truth be told, he was dreading the moment he had to tell her about DiMA, and about everything else that had happened after Kasumi returned home. He was afraid to have to explain himself. Uncertain whether Ellie would disapprove of him not judging DiMA by the same standards as he would have anyone else.   
  
But surprisingly, she understood.   
  
As he began the process of explaining what he saw in DiMA’s memories and how it made him feel, her eyes shone with empathy. As he told her about the struggle to create peace, only to antagonize Allen even further, she shifted, expressing sorrow in the way she positioned herself. And as he told her about how he and DiMA had resolved the situation… how he and DiMA has reconciled their broken past… she sighed.   
  
But it wasn’t a scornful sigh. It was the sigh of a friend who wished she could share some of his burdens.   
  
“I’m sorry, Nick. I really am.” She had been quiet throughout the whole story, taking a few moments to formulate her words. “You shouldn’t have to go through this all, not after... everything.”   
  
Nick knew full well what she was referring to. His life as a synth had been nothing but questions upon more questions. In the last couple of years and especially after meeting Atticus, his life had balanced somewhat. Feeling like he could finally give into his identity, and feel at peace.   
  
DiMA had thrown that in disarray once more. If only for a short while.   
  
And now Nick looked back on the last few weeks, he had come out of the other end… stronger? No. More confident? No. More... genuine? Perhaps.   
  
He gave a short chuckle. “On the bright side, I have a brother now.” He smiled warmly at her, conveying without words that she might as well be family, too.   
  
Ellie nervously ran her palm along the side of her neck, looking at him carefully. “True. And you’re… happy about that?”   
  
“I’m not sure, not yet. I think I am.” Nick mused, unable to form one solid standpoint from the mess in his head. Even though he had come to some resolute conclusions, it would still take time to figure out the emotional side of things. “At least I now have something that the original Nick Valentine never had.” He grinned. “Present company notwithstanding.”   
  
She tried her best not to blush, but failed.   
  
“Thanks, Nick.”   
  
“I should be thanking you. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for… for keeping an open mind.”   
  
“Hm, in all the years that I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you make the wrong call. Situationally maybe,” she jibed, referring to Nick’s many misfortunes. “But never in matters of what’s right and wrong.”   
  
“I hope so. I do.” Nick looked down at his hands, slowly curling the fingers of his exposed one. “I suppose only time will tell.”   
  
“If you decide you want a brother in your life, don’t hesitate to go back, Nick.”   
  
“I’ll try...”   
  
It was only then that it hit him he truly, genuinely, missed DiMA. There had been this indescribable feeling upon his return to the commonwealth. He had mistaken it for homesickness at first… but now that he was back he wasn’t so sure.  _ Well _ , he supposed,  _ I guess that’s a form of homesickness, too. _ __  
__  
Later that night, Ellie had gone to sleep and he had said goodbye to Atticus after hanging out for a while, smoking and drinking while discussing recent events.   
  
Nick went up to the roof of the agency. He had a chair there, sitting down close to the wall. He leaned back and lit one more cigarette, the last one from the cartons he had bought in Acadia.   
  
He breathed out slowly, looking up at the stars and moon through the slight haze of smoke. As it cleared and he took another drag, he realized how comparatively dull the stars were here. Even in post nuclear Boston, light pollution was still a thing. He pondered for a moment, remembering the huge number of stars he had seen up on Acadia’s mountaintop. How vast the universe had seemed.   
  
He could sense an inkling of that incomprehensible expanse. But it wasn’t the universe itself that impressed him, no. It was the fact that for a long time, the Commonwealth had been his entire world. And now… DiMA and Acadia seemed truly far away.   
  
He had made the right call, coming back to the Commonwealth.    
  
But for the first time in his life…   
...he was no longer sure where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it then. Thank you so much for reading, I seriously couldn't have done this without you. First long fic I've ever had the courage to finish, and all because I got such lovely responses. I really hope you enjoyed it.


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